


Return to Thorney Towers

by TheGreatAllie



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mystery, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 44,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatAllie/pseuds/TheGreatAllie
Summary: Fred Bonaparte is happy with his life after being released from Thorney Towers, right up until the night his life is threatened. Once the Psychonauts are in on the case, they find a matter of intrigue is surrounding the old, abandoned asylum, and all of the residents are in danger. They've got to find out what's going on and stop it before all of the old patients end up permanently insane... or dead.





	1. A Thorney Situation

 

_Dear Mr. Bonaparte_

 

Fred put the letter on his kitchen table. No way was he ready to read this letter. No way in the world.

He got up and went to the cabinet for a glass. Then he went to the fridge and fumbled around inside it until he found the jug of milk. Instead of pouring it, though, he put the glass and milk jug on the counter and went back to the letter.

 

_Dear Mr. Bonaparte,_

_Mr. Edgar Teglee would like to invite you-_

 

I can't do it, thought Fred. He noticed the fridge was open and closed it. Then he opened it again to put the milk back, and closed it again. Then he opened it, took the milk out, poured himself a glass, and put the milk away. Fred set the glass of milk on the table next to the letter, and then he picked the letter up again.

 

_Mr. Edgar Teglee would like to invite you to the opening of his art exhibit entitled Madness and Mentalists, a reflection of his time at-_

 

No. No, no, no, no. Fred went into the next room where his pinewood derby cars were. He liked to build them and race them against each other. He only raced himself, because that was the only way he could win. Not that winning meant too much to Fred.

Yes, it did. It meant everything. That's why he never competed. Because then _he_ might come back.

Fred picked up one of the cars, but it fell out of his hand and onto the carpet. The puke ugly, light yellow carpet that had sixteen years worth of fuzz and filth. The previous owner of this townhouse didn't vacuum, and after his eviction, Fred picked up where he left off and kept on the tradition.

Because his legs were so long and his arms so short, Fred had to kneel down on the ground before he could reach the car. Then he just put it back.

Fred went back into the kitchen and emptied his glass of milk in one go. Then he picked up the letter again.

 

_-Madness and Mentalists, a reflection of his time at the now defunct Thorney Towers Home for the Disturbed. As your presence has influence in the art, we would be honored if you could attend in person. Please RSVP using the attached information. We look forward to your attendance._

_Sincerely,_

 

Fred put the letter back down. Answer them. Répondez, s'il vous plaît. Answer them how? No way in the world. No way on Earth would he be going. For the past year, he'd been trying to forget, trying to get the memory of his horrifying time at Thorney Towers out of his mind. It all ran together now, the screaming madness, the complete loss of self in his own mind, and, worst of all, the inexplicable isolation from everybody and everything- everything save for the jeering taunts of Crispin Whytehead, the man who _drove him insane to begin with!_

Well, maybe you can't really blame Crispin for that bit. The taunting, sure, but maybe it was unfair to blame _everything_ on Crispin. He had beaten Fred at his game, that was true, but Fred was the one who set it up twenty-six subsequent times and had been unable to accept the fact that a drooling mental patient had come out from years of stupor just to beat him at his own game. It's a dig, certainly, but nothing to lose your mind over.

But Fred was never very competitive. Sure, Waterloo-O was one of his favorite games, but it's not like he'd never lost at it before. But... somehow losing to Crispin, a man who was unresponsive to all stimuli and locked in his own mind until Fred brought him the game, was too much. To lose to someone who wasn't even functional, and at something you were supposed to be inherently good at... well, it did things to your mind.

No, that wasn't it. The Psychonauts had told him, after he'd gotten off the island (he was very surprised to find that it was an island, as he'd remembered it being on a hill) that it was because of something called "psitanium" in the ground. He'd spent so much time around psitanium that it increased the activity in his brain, but his brain couldn't handle it. He went crazy. If it hadn't been for Crispin drawing out his Napoleon personality, it would have been something else.

Fred put his glass in the dishwasher. So maybe not everything was Crispin's fault. That's why Fred didn't kill him. Well, probably he was too meek to ever kill anybody, but still. He just roughed him up, scared him a little. Okay, a lot. Well, he'd been at the guy's mercy for who knows how long? It was long past due, really.

Since then, they'd all gotten off the island. Fred had gotten his life back on track. He had a house, a job at a tax office (a far cry from working in an insane asylum) and there was this cute girl at the local coffee shop he was thinking of asking out sometime. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with Thorney Towers ever again.

Because... sometimes, at night... he could hear him. Napoleon. Wanting to know why he wasn't trying harder. Why he gives up so easily. The truth was, Fred hadn't been really passionate about anything in a while, he was just taking it easy. And he was afraid that if he didn't do something, Napoleon would come back to beat the love of victory into him. But Fred was also afraid that if he did try something, he would fail.

Fred was beginning to worry that maybe he was still insane.

He picked up the letter and checked the phone number. Then he went over to the phone and dialed. It rang once. Then a second time. And then it rang a third time.

"Yeah, hi, it's Fred Bonaparte," said Fred when someone answered. "I'm calling about my invitation to that art show thing... yeah. Yeah, I'll be there. Okay. Super. See you then." And he hung up.

'Fred, you are such a wimp,' he thought to himself.

 

~*~

 

Edgar Teglee's favorite medium was painting on black velvet. He liked how you use bright, vivid colors to contrast the dark of the velvet. He loved the texture of the fabric and how it gave something exquisite to his pieces. But most of all, he just loved painting. At one time he had been a prisoner of art. Now he used art to set himself free.

His gallery show had attracted a lot of media attention. It had made headlines last year when he and several other people had been rescued from the long-abandoned insane asylum following a plot to take over the world with psychic brain tanks. Since then, everyone but he and Gloria von Gouton had managed to slip into anonymity. Actually, Edgar had been almost completely sequestered this past year, constantly working on these pieces that he felt had to be made, had to be shared with the world. The people had to know how they had felt, there, in that asylum, long forgotten and isolated. It was only now that he, too took a place in the spotlight. Ever since he broke the isolation, he had gotten an enormous amount of press.

Edgar had tracked down all the others, the ones who had influenced his art. All of them had given him the go-ahead to depict them in his pieces. Now it was time for them to see what he had done with that permission. He'd had his assistant locate where they had gotten to and forwarded invitations, hopefully with enough time for them to make arrangements to come. However, he hoped the ones that weren't able to come chose not to because they had so many things going on in their recovered lives.

Gloria von Gouton, for example, had called right away to turn down his invitation. She apologized over and over again, but even if her understudy could come in to cover her role for the weekend, she couldn't be away from the Roberta von Gouton Memorial Suicide Prevention Center at this time. She used the money from her performing to start the center, named after her mother, to reach out to troubled people. She specialized in people who's lives were supposedly charmed, (like actresses and their mothers) or at least well adjusted, because often people assumed that if you were making money and had everything you needed, you shouldn't be suicidal. This put a huge stigma on an already very taboo subject, and they needed to know it was okay to feel this way, and that help was available. Already they had helped almost a hundred young people get their lives back on track, and they were in the middle of a huge fundraiser drive.

Boyd Cooper said couldn't get Friday off to drive down, but Edgar had a feeling that he just didn't want to go to an art show. Boyd wasn't really much of an 'art' guy.

Actually, so far, the only person who had returned his invitation in the affirmative was Fred Bonaparte. Edgar was glad of that. Fred was a friendly guy, Edgar had always thought.

The night of the show, Edgar was walking around his gallery, looking over all his pieces. Initially he was mingling with the crowd, the guests, potential buyers, art critics, and other journalists. While it was true that Edgar was a bit nervous about the whole thing, he was enjoying himself too much to let that bother him. He had never gotten a show all his own. True, he probably wouldn't have warranted it if the subject of the show wasn't such a curiosity, but Edgar knew how things worked, and he was grateful to have this chance at all.

His art was highly praised. The centerpiece of the whole thing was a large painting of El Odio the bull, locked in battle with Dingo Inflagrante as Lampita Pasionado looked on, hands at her mouth as she feared for the life of the one she loved. But that wasn't all. In the bottom right, the scene phased from a bullfight arena to the hallways of a high school, where Edgar Teglee looked on in anger as a Dingo-looking jock walked off with a woman who looked suspiciously like Lana Panzoni.

Another large piece was a form that looked much like Gloria. Her upper body was hunched over in agony, her face contorted in pain, but another torso and head emerging from her waist stood up straight, her hands spread as she gracefully accepted the cheers from her audience. The symbols around her were mirrored. On the left side, the angle her body hunched to, there were silhouettes of girls lined up in dance practice as a teacher cracked her whip, the image of a woman who looked like Gloria, but much older, falling from a great height, a hideous critic, potted plants with faces painted clumsily on them, and the classic tragedy face. On the other side, a happily cheering audience, a bright spirit, the comedy face, and beautiful trinkets. Edgar had gotten these images from just one meeting with her, where she told him all the strange things she'd imagined the night the tower exploded. After listening to her story, the piece painted itself.

The third painting showed a twisted suburb that turned in on itself and jutted out on angles. If you just glanced at it, you wouldn't notice anything unusual aside from the contortion. But Edgar had used the stark contrasts of his medium to hide in a little subtlety. If you looked closely, you could see he'd painted a camera peeking out of nearly everything: mailboxes, windows, bushes, cars, basically everything bigger than a camera. The color of the cameras was only a little off from the color of the object they were hiding in, an effect he'd never tried in black velvet. This one, Edgar thought, vividly displayed the paranoia that Boyd had described to him.

Edgar turned a corner to where some of his less labor-intensive works were getting a lot of buzz. Once he did, he noticed something you couldn't miss. Fred Bonaparte always drew attention to himself in a crowd, being that he was so ridiculously tall he towered over everyone else.

"Hello, Fred, I'm glad you could make it!" Edgar greeted as he made his way to the increasingly awkward-looking man. Fred seemed to be completely lost, and when he saw Edgar he waved with one of his stubby T-Rex arms and smiled, but it was a forced smile, like you make when you know you ought to but a real one isn't happening on its own.

"Hi, Edgar," said Fred. "I noticed you couldn't make it through the show without at least one painting of a bullfight."

"Yes, but that one was on purpose," said Edgar. They both laughed politely. Fred couldn't really think of anything to say, so Edgar brought up the subject, "I would like to show you the piece inspired by your story. I remember being moved by your circumstances. It is like an old tragedy, the descendant of greatness fated to be locked in the prison where he was once a guard, as it were. Here it is. Please, tell me what you think."

As he spoke, he led Fred around to the far wall, where the piece he spoke of was hanging. Fred looked at it and took it all in silently. It was extremely tall and narrow, like himself; a full-body portrait of a beanpole. Fred stood tall and proud in the portrait, like his great-some-odd-grandfather before him. His clothing was made to look like the general's uniform, but twisted around his body like a straitjacket. The face, though, was not twisted in madness or fear; it was noble and strong. Around his feet were soldiers carved from wood, standing around at the ready, willing to follow their leader to Hell and back.

Fred looked up at the picture for a long time. Edgar watched his face, but could read nothing of his feelings. After a while he went from curiously awaiting criticism to an awkward sort of worry.

"If you don't like it, I will remove it from the show. If it upsets you I understand."

"It, uh- it's not-" Fred was looking for the right words. Unable to find them, he just looked down at Edgar and said, "It's really good. You're, um, a really great artist."

"Thank you," said Edgar. "I'm glad you approve."

"I gotta go," said Fred suddenly, and started heading towards the door.

Edgar followed him. "Is it too personal? Have I offended you?"

"No, it's not that. I just- I gotta go."

"Wait, please-"

CRACK

For someone as tall as Fred, he could really make himself short when he wanted to. And even though he'd never heard the sound of a gun go off in his life, his whole body recognized it right away and he hit the floor fast. People screamed. Edgar roared with fury.

Fred scrambled on the ground in a panic until he got to the door, regretting his decision to come to the gallery for more reasons than he could have ever anticipated.

 

 

 


	2. ABBA Isn't For Everyone

_Meanwhile, not far away..._

 

Razputin had celebrated his eleventh birthday home at the circus with his family: his siblings, his mother, and of course his father. Before that he was with the Psychonauts, honing his skills with Agents Nein, Vodello, and Cruller. But, as things were slow in the psychic espionage world, he'd come home to his family in the circus to practice his acrobatics. A mixture of physical and mental skill had gotten him out of more than one Thorney situation, and as he was still a kid his place was still very much at home, under the watchful eyes of his parents.

Right now, actually, his father had sent him out back to practice his acrobatics, like a good father should. And right now Raz was hiding behind some crates, holding the latest issue of _True Psychic Tales_ and slacking off, like a typical son would. He was really into it, but he wasn't so absorbed that he didn't notice when his father, Augustus, entered the tent. Raz stuffed the comic between the crates and jumped up, as if he were recovering from a spill that sent him in the wrong direction.

"Good evening, Razputin," Augustus greeted him.

"Hey, Dad!" Raz said brightly.

"Have you been practicing like I told you to?"

"Of course I have," said Raz, climbing over the crates.

"Because you know that your acrobatic talents are just as important as your psychic skills."

"I know, Dad," said Raz. "I couldn't have become a Psychonaut without all the stuff you taught me."

"Right," said Augustus. "You know I only ask you to do these things because I care about you. And I want you to be able to take care of yourself when you're out in the world."

"I know, I know, our family has many enemies."

"And your chosen profession is none too safe, either."

"More dangerous than flinging around on a trapeze under the big top?" Raz nudged his dad, and his dad nudged back with a smile.

"Oh, much more. For one thing, most states make us use a net with performers under the age of sixteen."

"Yeah."

"Of course, a good acrobat knows that falling is inevitable. Don't forget how I taught you to fall."

"Right," said Raz, "so I don't get hurt."

"That's my boy."

"Don't worry about me, Dad," said Raz. "I'm practicing really hard."

"Good," said Augustus. Then he reached over and pulled Raz's comic from it's place wedged between the crate. He rolled it up and tapped Raz on the head with it playfully. "Then you won't mind if I just put this with the rest of your things, so it'll be waiting for you when you're finished."

"Uh..."

Augustus chuckled to himself and started to leave.

"You read my mind," said Raz accusingly.

"No, no," said Augustus over his shoulder from the entrance, "You think I don't know my own son better than that?"

Raz shook his head, bewildered. Then, with nothing better to do, he climbed up the ladder to reach the trapeze. He swung back and forth a few times, but then brought himself back to the platform. He heard his father's voice just outside, but couldn't make out what he was saying.

Raz slowly climbed back down the ladder and crept to the edge of the tent, near the doorway, and tried to hear what his father was saying. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like what was happening outside was very important to him.

"Well... you know how I feel about all this," Augustus was saying, "I'm just not sure if now is a good time."

"It must be completed as soon as possible," said a deep, familiar, stoic voice. "Having Razputin here would greatly help."

Raz ran out of the tent excitedly. "Sasha!" he cried happily.

"Razputin, darling!" Milla was there, too. She spread her arms and Raz jumped in for a giant hug. "How are you?"

"I'm awesome, but- what are you doing here?" Raz turned around to Sasha, who greeted him with a stout nod and a handshake.

"Agents Nein and Vodello are here for you, Razputin," said Augustus. "They were just telling me about some sort of case they want you to come along on."

"It's very routine," said Sasha. "We're just going to the abandoned insane asylum on reconnaissance, and we would like you to come along. Since you are our expert on that place, your presence could be quite helpful."

"And I'm not sure how I feel about my son going back to that place. It's dangerously dilapidated, and besides, being there might cause him some undue duress. Don't forget, he _is_ only eleven."

"It's not a dangerous assignment," said Sasha. "We're only going there to gather information."

Augustus raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? You're not expecting anything else?"

"Of course not. You have my assurances that this is a routine information-gathering mission."

"That's right," said Milla. "We wouldn't ask for him if he wasn't already so familiar with the place. We'll both be keeping a very close eye on him."

"Can you really keep such a good watch over him while you're conducting a mission?"

Milla gave him a knowing sort of grin. "What, you've never heard that Psychonauts are masters of multitasking? Don't you worry about that."

"Yeah, Dad. C'mon, I've done way more dangerous stuff than this."

Augustus sighed. "I know you have... and I know you're one of the most powerful psychic minds of the day... I just worry that because of this, sometimes people forget that you're still just eleven years old."

He was looking at Sasha when he said it, but it was Raz who answered him. "Dad, why do you worry so much? Look- look at this." He reached out and took both Milla and Sasha's hands in his, linking their fingers together. "I'll be working with a net, see?" Then he let go of their hands and stepped up to his father. "And if that doesn't work, well... you taught me how to fall, remember?"

Finally, his father relented. He smiled, and opened his arms to welcome Razputin into a warm, welcoming hug. "Be good, Razputin," his father said. "Show them all."

"Aw, c'mon." Raz was slightly embarrassed.

"Come with us," said Sasha. He stepped up to Augustus and said, "You have my assurances that no harm will come to him."

"Good," said Augustus. "Then I won't have to put a curse on you."

"You say your family has many enemies," said Sasha. "I assure you, I am not one of them." Then he turned to leave, behind Raz and Milla who were already moving on out.

"Have you eaten yet?" Sasha asked as they left the fairgrounds.

On cue, Raz's stomach growled. "Oh, man. No. We haven't had dinner yet."

"Let's stop somewhere, then, and we can fill you in on all the details."

 

~*~

 

The sky was red from the setting sun. The days were getting shorter, but it was still pretty late in the day for the sun to be out. Not too far from the fairgrounds they found a diner. It was pretty classic, chrome on the exterior, shaped like a train car, elevated from ground level. The menu posted outside told that it had standard diner fare, a mix of breakfast and dinner all made from the same small set of ingredients. There was no wait, so they were seated immediately in a booth in the back corner smoking section.

Raz opened his menu. Sitting in a booth in the diner with two adults made him feel like a little kid, which was uncomfortably close to acknowledging his age in comparison with others in his profession. "So," he said, trying to sound grown up, "What's going on? Why are we going to Thorney Towers?"

Sasha frowned, and then shifted his weight and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. Milla gave him a look from across the table. "Sitting on your cigarettes again?"

"This new coat," said Sasha. "The pockets are a bit lower than on my last one." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with his mind. "All right," he said, "where were we?"

"We didn't start yet," said Raz.

"Ah, well, that's easy enough. You see, just last week the last open case relating to the Brain Tanks was closed and filed away, ending that chapter in Psychonauts history forever. Because of that, certain restrictions have been lifted, such as the blanket ban on any activity over at the abandoned insane asylum that wasn't directly related to the case, so as to keep interference to a minimum. Because of this, now we are able to freely investigate the area to find answers to several questions that were raised that night."

"What kind of questions?"

"For starters..." Sasha paused, as he couldn't smoke and talk at the same time. "We understand why Oleander chose to have Dr. Loboto perform his work at Thorney Towers, as it was nearby yet inaccessible. We are unsure of why the other patients were there that night, because it seemed to serve no purpose. The place had been abandoned for fifty years. There was no part in the plan that needed their brains _or_ bodies. As the case is officially closed, we are investigating the possibility that more than one matter of intrigue was happening there at the same time."

"Wait," said Raz. "The asylum was closed for over fifty years?"

"That's right, darling," said Milla, "didn't you read the tree stump last summer?"

Raz looked back in his head. "Oh. Oh, yeah! But wait," he frowned. "When I was poking around in their minds trying to straighten everything out, I saw all their memories. Way back when they were remembering how they got there, they were remembering Thorney Towers."

"Most old mental institutions looked the same," said Sasha. "It's also possible that they could not remember where they were taken to in their madness, and projected their current location back into their memories."

"Whoa," said Raz, taking it in. "So... he brought Crispin to guard the elevator for him... and Boyd was supposed to keep people out and blow up the asylum when it was done... but what about Gloria and Fred and Edgar? Why would he bring them there?"

"Hopefully we will find that out on this mission," said Sasha. "Incidentally, is your leg feeling better?"

"Oh, yeah. It's 100%."

"I'm so glad to hear that," said Milla. "I can't tell you how worried I was when you were still limping when we sent you home."

Raz waved his hand. "Nah, that wasn't a problem. One time, when I was seven, I..." He trailed off, looking out the window. "Did you see that?"

"What?" asked Milla.

Raz stood up. "Scootch out."

Milla stepped out of the booth so that Raz could get out. "What is it?" But Raz was already halfway out the door.

"Stay here and wait for the food," said Sasha, getting up as well. "I'll see what he's up to."

Raz pushed the door open to the steps outside. He was sure he saw a head go past the window outside. But he couldn't have seen a head, because the diner was elevated above the height of normal people. It would be impossible for him to have seen a head pass the window... unless it was the head he thought he recognized.

"Fred?" Raz called. "Fred Bonaparte?"

He turned around slowly, eyes darting around in a panic. There he was, Fred Bonaparte, though not as Raz remembered him. His eyes were still nervous, but he no longer looked like a mental patient. Gone was the straitjacket, the coffee mug épaulettes, the Napoleon hat, to be replaced with ordinary street clothes. But the most noticeable thing about Fred was never the mental patient garb or the Napoleon complex. It was the giant, slender frame that housed the nervous, somewhat gentle but mostly wimpy man within.

Fred's raw, pink puffed eyes settled on Raz. He stared, mouth slightly open but not slack, at the child standing just a few feet down the sidewalk from him. He looked confused, surprised, and... scared?

Sasha came up behind Raz, and saw right away what had dragged his young attention span away. "What is this?" he asked.

Finally, Fred spoke. "I'm sorry, I... didn't know you were real."

Raz put his hand on his chest. "Who, me?"

"Yeah... I don't remember that night so well, but I remember some kid in my dreams and he was talking to me, but when I woke up he was gone. I figured none of it was real. But you look just like him."

"I'm Raz," said Raz in an authoritative voice that had developed quite a bit over the past year. "Last summer I was on a mission that took me across Lake Oblongata to Thorney Towers Home for the Disturbed. I had to get through some obstacles that required entering the minds of some people there and straightening them out."

"Oh," said Fred.

"Yeah," said Raz. "I'm the one who fixed your crazy."

"Well, thanks," said Fred. "Because of you I got my life back. Or, well, I got _a_ life back." He looked over his shoulder. "Look, I hate to run so soon, but I'm pretty sure someone's trying to kill me, so if you don't mind..."

He turned around and started to walk away, but Sasha reached out his psychic hand and took Fred by his shirt collar, gently turning him around. "Wait a moment," said Sasha. "We are currently on a mission concerning the events of the Home for the Disturbed that took place that night, and we could use your information. We are Psychonauts, and if you are in danger it would be safe to stay with us."

"Oh," said Fred. He glanced over his shoulder, and then back at Sasha and Raz. "Uh, okay. Thanks."

"Come inside," said Sasha, "and tell us what happened."

Raz went back into the diner first, then Fred, and then Sasha, after checking to see that nothing strange was happening behind them. Milla waved to Raz at the booth, and their food had arrived during their absence. Raz introduced them, and then let Fred slide into the booth first so he could arrange his long legs under the table. Raz sat next to Fred, as Fred didn't feel comfortable sitting next to anyone he didn't know. Sasha joined Milla on the other side of the booth, with Milla sitting just a bit closer to Sasha than she did to Raz.

"So," said Sasha. "You believe you are in danger. Is it an immediate threat?"

"I don't know," said Fred. "I was at this gallery, and I was talking with Edgar- you know Edgar, he's an artist? He was at the asylum?"

"Yeah," said Raz. "He dreams in black velvet."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," said Fred. "So we were talking, and then someone fired a gun. He got Edgar right in the arm."

"That was stupid," said Raz.

"Yeah, that only made him mad. So he went after the guy- the guy freaked, I think he thought that would have worked, and he got off one more shot that went over my head- I was ducking on the floor- and I ran home. When I got to my house, the front window was smashed open from the outside. I could see glass all over the living room, and someone was sitting on the couch, holding something. I heard this music playing from inside, some kind of disco, but it scared me so bad that I went to the parking lot and got my car, but it wouldn't start. There was this weird smell... I mean, it didn't choke and die. I turned the key and got nothing. The front door of my house opened and some guy in a trench coat stepped out... and I ran."

"You poor thing," said Milla. "Here, do you need something to eat?"

"No," said Fred. "I couldn't eat anything if I tried."

"Are you sure someone was trying to kill you?" said Raz.

"I dunno," said Fred. "I just don't usually get shot at, broken into, and vandalized all in the same day. I was spooked."

Sasha had been silent this whole time. Now he put his cigarette out in the ash tray and said, "I would like you to stay with us for the time being," said Sasha.

"You think I'll be safe?"

"I think something is going on," replied Sasha, "and I would like to keep you close."

"I don't like how you didn't answer my question."

Sasha didn't say anything.

"Well," said Milla, "I wouldn't worry about it, darling. You're with the Psychonauts now."

"Oh, uh, okay. Great."

"What are you thinking?" Milla asked Sasha.

Sasha was responding to Milla, but he posed the question to Raz: "What do you think about this man's story?"

"Creepy," replied Raz.

"Do you think his explanation of events is likely to be accurate?"

"Hey!" Fred understood what Sasha meant.

"Of course," said Raz. "Boyd was the paranoid one. After I got rid of Napoleon, Fred had a really good head on his shoulders, even if it _was_ in the clouds."

"Hey!" said Fred again. Then, when he got the joke, "That's funny."

"It does warrant investigation," said Sasha. "If true, it most likely is involved with our current investigation."

"I agree. We should visit the art exhibit first," said Milla.

"What about Thorney Towers?" asked Raz.

"It's already been waiting for a year," said Milla. "It can wait a little longer, I think."

Raz was disappointed that he had to wait longer to see Thorney Towers, but he was interested in seeing Edgar again. Edgar was an interesting man, perhaps the most normal of the bunch (although that wasn't saying much), having carried on the most normal conversation with Raz before his mined was cleared than any of the others (again, not saying much.)

"What about me?" asked Fred. He was thinking about the man from his house.

"Come with us," said Sasha, "and help us reconstruct the events."

That was a huge relief to Fred. He was much calmer as they paid the check and left than he was when he came in. Until, though, he suddenly recognized the music playing somewhere in the background. It had been barely recognizable at the table, but as they moved through the diner, suddenly Fred could hear it clearly. It was coming from a jukebox over at a table where a shady character in a trench-coat and fedora was huddled over a plate of scrambled eggs and ham.

 

_Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war_   
_Waterloo - Promise to love you forever more_   
_Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to_   
_Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to be with you_   
_Waterloo - Finally facing my Waterloo_

 

"That's the song that was playing at my house," said Fred. "When the guy was sitting in there, through the broken window. What's that song?"

"That song?" Milla repeated. "That's 'Waterloo,' by ABBA. Very disco-inspired. Good to dance to."

"I don't like it," said Fred nervously.

"ABBA is not for everyone," Milla agreed.

 

_And how could I ever refuse?_   
_I feel like I win when I lose_   
_Waterloo-_

 

"No," said Fred a bit darkly. "I definitely don't like that song." And he ducked his head and stepped outside, the Psychonauts following.


	3. A Shady Character

There were three things that Morceau Oleander loved: Fighting a war, training young psychic minds, and his rabbit hutch. However, since the psychic world was currently a peace, and summer camp was over, he'd thrown himself fully into the third option. Whispering Rock was a fine place to raise a brood of bunnies, and they could live a long and healthy life in the sunshine, with lots of lettuce and fresh hay to eat, and plenty of room to frolic, with no worries of butchers.

By day he let them out in an enclosed pen behind the lodge. When the sun started to set behind the hills, though, he rounded them up and put them away before the cougars could come out with plans cook and eat them.

"Ten-hut!" he shouted, holding his riding crop straight up. "At attention, men! Single file! Into the hutch!" The bunnies, of course, ignored his orders, hopping around and sniffing curiously.

"All right, rabbits, on the double! I want you back in this hutch. You first, Washington." He picked up the nearest bunny. Washington had soft fur and big, brown eyes. His nose twitched a mile a minute, and his curious face seemed to be asking why he had to go inside.

Oleander gave Washington an affectionate squeeze before sending him back into the hutch. "You're next, Patton," he said, picking up the next rabbit. Patton squirmed and tried to escape, clearly not giving up playtime without a fight. "I like your fighting spirit," said Oleander as he placed Patton in the hutch next to Washington.

Something poked him in the back of the head. Oleander spun around, hands ready to strike- but it was only Janitor Cruller, poking him with the handle of his push-broom. "What do you want?" he asked with a growl in his voice. Oleander had very little patience for any of Cruller's personalities except the original, the one who couldn't leave his sanctuary, and even that one was trying sometimes.

Janitor Cruller stared at him with those crazy, vacant eyes, slightly spread outwards. It creeped Oleander out. Agent Cruller said his mind was "multi-faceted." Oleander just thought he was a nut. You couldn't ever say that to him, though. It hurt enough to lose your mind, and then upon finding it again have no one believe you but your closest friends, who would be your only comfort as you stayed locked in your prison and called it a sanctuary. If one of his friends treated him poorly, it would hurt more than anything. Oleander was gruff, sure, and with little patience, but he wasn't a cruel man.

"Did you want something, Cruller?" Oleander was holding another bunny, Lee, under his arm.

"I cleaned your rabbit cage," said Janitor Cruller. "I think you'll find it spotless and refreshing."

Oleander stuffed Lee into the hutch. "Yeah, I do."

Janitor Cruller continued to stare at him. Oleander began to feel a bit like he'd shown up to formation without his uniform. He picked up Hickory. "Anything else?" he asked. But Janitor Cruller only stared. Oleander waited an uncomfortably long time before Cruller replied: "Rabbits need a clean pen. I'll clean the pen."

"Do that later," said Oleander. "I still have to tuck in Jackson, Ceaser, Pershing, Grant-" He stopped talking as he caught sight of someone coming up the hill. "Who's there?"

A strange man was there, dressed in a long brown trench-coat and matching fedora that shadowed his face. His trousers were narrow and his shoes were polished- very polished indeed, for how dusty it was out here.

"Who are you?" asked Oleander.

"We are looking for Sheena Thorney." The man spoke in a deep, even voice, ending his sentences a bit curtly.

"Sheena Thorney... Sheena Thorney..." Oleander thought that sounded familiar, but didn't quite know... "Sheena Thorney... oh. Oh! You mean Sheegor?"

"Sheena Thorney was a patient at Thorney Towers," said the man in the same voice.

"Yeah, she's here," said Oleander. "Why, what do you need her for?"

"I have been instructed to find Sheena Thorney."

"Can't help ya," said Oleander. "Only Nein is authorized to get into his lab." It's not that he _couldn't_ , of course, but rather that he _wouldn't_ , not for a suspicious stranger anyway.

The stranger turned to Janitor Cruller. "What can you tell me about Sheena Thorney?"

"Why? Does she need mopping?" asked Janitor Cruller hopefully.

"That information is classified," said the stranger.

"Who are you?" Oleander demanded.

"That information is classified," repeated the stranger.

"Well, I'm a Psychonaut, buddy, so just how classified is it?"

The stranger casually held his hand out... then dropped a confusion grenade.

"What? Hey! What are you-" but suddenly Oleander couldn't see clearly, and he realized that he couldn't find his brain tanks! He needed to fill them with... bunnies? No. No, _save_ the bunnies, and... wait, what?

"I told you them burgers ain't ready yet..." said Janitor Cruller.

Someone grabbed Oleander and dragged him along. He couldn't see where through the green haze, but he tried to help by walking because he felt reasonably sure that he was being taken to the bunnies- no, wait, to his brain tanks. No, wait-

Wait, the stranger was a threat to him! And-

SLAM!

Suddenly it was pitch dark. Oleander could move, but he couldn't see, couldn't hear, and his mind couldn't penetrate anything.

His stomach sank and he slid down to the floor.

"Hey, Morry?" Janitor Cruller said. So that made one thing Oleander could hear, aside from the ringing in his ears caused by the silence.

"What?"

"Does this place need mopping?"

Oleander facepalmed. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

 

~*~

 

The Psychonauts arrived at the art gallery just as the police were leaving. The local police were never eager to let outside forces in, and the less face time they shared, the better. A crowd outside wanted to come in; nothing is better word-of-mouth for an art exhibit than attempted murder, apparently. Already Edgar had been inspired, and he could only meet with them as long as they didn't mind sharing their attention with his black velvet.

"Welcome to my exhibit," Edgar greeted the Psychonauts from behind his easel. "And welcome back, Fred."

"Hi, Edgar," said Fred, somewhat embarrassed. "Sorry I ran out before."

Edgar waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. It is understandable to want to remove yourself from danger. I'm just glad to see that you're all right."

"Hey, Edgar. Cool painting," said Raz, taking a look over Edgar's shoulder.

"Thank you. This exhibit would not be possible without you, you know. I tried to find your address to send you an invitation, but I was unable to."

"Oh, yeah, I move around a lot," said Raz.

"Wait, you knew he was real?" said Fred.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I didn't."

"Excuse me for saying so, Mr. Orderly," said Edgar, quite kindly, "but I did have a better awareness of my surroundings at the time."

"Also I was taking a nap," said Fred.

Then Sasha spoke. "A fascinating exhibit. You have captured the madness in an astounding way."

"Thank you."

"That may be what made you a target."

"I'm surprised to find you here," said Milla. "I was under the impression that you were shot."

Edgar made a dismissive gesture. "Bullets cannot harm Edgar Teglee." Aside from a lightly stained piece of gauze taped to his upper left arm, Edgar seemed unharmed.

"Did you get a good look at your attacker?"

"As I told the police, I was unable to. He had a long trench-coat and a hat that hid his features. He fired two shots and left."

"The second shot moved my hair," said Fred.

"What do you think?" Sasha asked Milla.

"It very likely was about his raising attention to Thorney Towers," said Milla, "but so far that's my psychic intuition."

"There is no such thing as psychic intuition," said Sasha. "Either you know it or you don't."

"You don't believe in woman's intuition, either, darling, but I always know when you need me."

"Perceptual bias," said Sasha. "There's never been a controlled study measuring the times I needed you and you responded against the times I needed you and you were unaware."

"Sometimes I think you are beyond help."

Meanwhile, Raz was watching Edgar paint. Right now, there wasn't much form, and Raz couldn't make it out. "Whatchya paintin' now?" he asked.

Edgar made two broad strokes, letting his arm fly free from the velvet into the air, giving his art a momentum at the edges. "Freedom," he said simply.

"Why?"

"Tonight has been exhilarating," Edgar explained, "so that is what I'm painting."

Sasha and Milla asked Edgar many more questions of things that have been established, and Raz listened, trying to learn everything about being a Psychonaut.

"Thank you for your time," said Sasha as he finished. "Stay safe. We may be back."

"It would be a pleasure," replied Edgar.

"I think now we should go to Thorney Towers."

Raz jumped out of his seat. "All right!" They started to leave when suddenly he noticed something. "Wait, where's Fred?"

Fred hadn't gone far. He had grown bored and wandered off, setting down and looking at his painting. Subconsciously he'd crossed his arms, as he had in his straitjacket.

Before, he had seen the painting depicting a delusion so powerful it seeped out of his head and into reality, which frightened him badly. Now, though, he was inclined to see it differently- he saw a man, nearly a stranger, who was noble and dignified in the face of madness. "I wish I could be like the painting now," he thought, "instead of the one before."

Little did he know how, in the coming days, he would become more of one interpretation and less like the other.

 

 


	4. Prisoner of War, Prisoner of

"First we'll need to return to our secret headquarters at Whispering Rock," Sasha said. "Mr. Bonaparte, I'd like you to remain at our satellite headquarters here in the city."

"Um, okay. With more Psychonauts, right? I mean, I'll be safe here, right?"

"Of course." Sasha's voice had no assurance to it. Fred was not used to Sasha's way, and this tone was clearly not reassuring him. Milla, in an effort to counteract Sasha's emotionless voice, put a friendly hand on Fred's shoulder. Of course, she had to levitate herself a bit to reach him. "Don't worry about a thing," she trilled sweetly.

The Psychonauts Satellite Headquarters they left him at looked just like any other office. The place might have been owned by an insurance company or a tech support call center for how normal it looked. Sasha left Fred in an empty office and told him to hold tight until they returned, whereupon Fred sat down behind the unoccupied desk and began looking for a magazine or something to do.

The three Psychonauts then left the building. Raz bounded along eagerly. Beside him Sasha walked calmly and evenly, and beside _him_ Milla strode confidently with a bit of a swagger. They were pretty mismatched together, and they looked as contrasting when they were together as they did among ordinary people. It was different when they were together, though. Raz and Sasha, and to a somewhat lesser extent Milla, always looked out of place among normal people, as did a lot of psychics. However, when they were together, there was an invisible, unspoken bond that could be sensed by anyone. They didn't look like they fit together, but there was an understanding of belonging, something that was rare among psychics and non-psychics alike.

"Which car are we taking?" Raz asked.

Sasha reached into his coat pocket. "I believe yours is still in the shop, Agent Vodello?"

Milla smiled. "Don't act like you're not glad."

Sasha didn't react, but they all knew he didn't care much for Milla's car. It was flashy and loud. Sasha had two cars, each one more sensible than the other. One was beige, the other was black. Both were boring. They had special spy gadgets built in and receptors for psychic actions, but they could be equipped to fly to the moon and still be dull cars.

They got in, Sasha driving, Milla shotgun, and Raz buckled into the back seat. The drive would be long and quiet, through winding country roads that had no rest stops, no billboards, no big signs pointing out which gas stations, fast food restaurants, or traveler's motels would be at the next exit. There was only one exit, and it didn't really go anywhere anymore.

At first Raz occupied himself by running through the mission, and recalling what he could about the asylum from his last visit... however, even though he was an official Psychonauts agent, and he was used to traveling for long stretches of time, he was still an eleveneleven-year-oldho was stuck waiting for something exciting to happen. Raz shifted in the back seat. He tugged at his seat belt. "Are we there yet?" he asked when he thought he was about to explode.

"Almost, darling," said Milla. Then, to Sasha, "Just a little farther, yes?"

Sasha held the steering wheel tightly and looked straight ahead, nodding slightly.

"When we get to Whispering Rock, we'll check in with Ford," said Milla. "Morry is there, too, but he won't be working with us."

"Call ahead and ask him to open the gate," said Sasha. Milla pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed. Raz slumped back in his seat.

"No answer," said Milla. "I'll see if Ford can send him a message..."

The car slowed down, then stopped. They were still on the road.

"Why are we stopped?" asked Raz, leaning forward.

Then he saw why Sasha had stopped.

Oh, the gates were open, all right. They looked like they had been forced open by Bigfoot. The bars were warped and the lock was smashed.

Milla, eyes fixed on the gate, hung up her phone. "No answer," she said.

Sasha got out of the car. Milla slid over and pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Stay close to me, Razputin," said Milla, and she got out of the car.

Raz pulled his goggles down over his eyes and fell into place behind Milla.

Sasha was standing in the middle of the parking lot, staring straight ahead. His left hand was in his pocket. Milla came up behind him. "Do you sense anyone?"

"No," said Sasha. "Not foe nor friend."

"Oh, dear."

Raz looked down at his feet. "Isn't the big tree stump supposed to be right here?"

"I don't think someone would break in and only steal the slab of a tree," said Sasha. Raz took that as Sasha shooting down his comment, and he frowned.

"Wait- what's that?" Milla went ahead up the hill to the lodge, and then shouted, "Come quickly!"

Sasha and Raz jogged up the path to see what she'd seen. It was the rabbit pen, and a cougar attacking it. Three of the bunnies were in the hutch and the rest out in the pen. The hutch was open and one of the rabbits was sitting in the doorway, the other two huddled in the hay. The cougar was pawing at some of the rabbits in the pen, but the one in the doorway kept firing little blasts of concentrated aggression at it, just enough to keep it from getting the others but not enough to convince it that this wasn't going to be an easy meal.

Milla telekinetically picked up the cougar and flung it into the woods just as Raz and Sasha made it to the pen. "Cool," said Raz.

"Something happened while Oleander was putting the rabbits up," said Sasha. "They may have seen something."

Sasha knelt down and held his hand out near the hutch. The one who'd been attacking, Jackson, sniffed Sasha's hand curiously, then hopped into his outstretched arms. Sasha checked Jackson's memories. Sunshine... carrots... hopping... Morry... a shady man in a trench coat... dragging Morry away... then, cougar!

"It's the same over here," said Milla, reading Sasha's mind as well as the bunnies. Raz couldn't manage to make sense of an animal's mind yet, since it was so different from a human's. He settled for letting them swarm around him with curiosity and affection.

Milla picked up one of the bunnies. "Put them up, darling," said Milla. "Let's make sure they'll be safe."

"Is this thing cougar proof?" asked Raz. He scooped the rest up in one mental handful and shoved them into the hutch.

"It doesn't look it, but it is- it pretty much has to be." Milla gave the bunny a snuggle and put it away.

"We'll go to my lab," said Sasha.

The woods were calm, and under any other circumstance it would be peaceful. Now, however, the stillness was spooky. Every broken beam in the fence seemed sinister in origin. Every snap of a twig was an assassin's foot. Minds ready, the Psychonauts went on. Now the woods were still. The sound of the birds seemed distant, and hardly any breeze rustled the leaves. Soon they could hear the sound of the stream running.

Then, a new sound joined the ordinary forest sounds. It was a low rumble, punctuated by soft thuds.

Sasha took point as they followed the sound, with it growing louder and louder as they approached the GPC area. The thuds became sharper and more defined, and the rumble rolled in highs and lows. Muffled shouting and pounding.

Sasha floated up to the lowest grate platform and opened the door of the bottom geodesic isolation chamber. Oleander, who had been slamming his weight against the door, went sprawling and fell onto the grate, then tumbled onto the grass below.

"Coach Oleander?" said Raz at the same time Milla said, "Morry?"

"What happened?" Sasha asked.

"An enemy soldier caught me off guard with a confusion grenade and made us POWs!"

"Us? You and Cruller, then?"

"Yeah."

Sasha leaned over and looked into the GPC. It was empty, though the walls were a bit wet from where Cruller had been mopping them. "... Where is he now?"

"I don't know, it was dark. He stopped talking about mopping a few hours ago, and then I couldn't find him."

"Well, that's..." but there wasn't a better word for 'bizarre' so Sasha didn't finish. "Your assailant, what did he want?"

"To lock me in a psychic prison, how should I- oh, wait, I _do_ know! Sheegor! He wanted Sheegor."

Sasha didn't hesitate. He took off up the grates to the GPC entrance of his lab. Everyone else followed behind him, first up and then down the steps into his lab.

"Sheena!" called Sasha.

"Sheegor!" Raz also called.

The lab was empty. There were clear signs of a struggle. Sasha's lock box had been cracked open and some classified folders taken.

Mr. Pokeylope was sitting on the control panel of the Brain Tumbler. "They took her," he said sadly.

"When?"

"Only a few hours ago."

Raz reached his hand out, palm up. Mr. Pokeylope crawled into his hand, and Raz put him in his backpack. "We'll get her back," he promised.

Mr. Pokeylope nodded. "Ford wants to see you."

"Yeah?" said Oleander. "Well, where is he?"

"His sanctuary." Mr. Pokeylope pulled his head into the backpack, then into his shell.

 

~*~

 

Ford was indeed in his sanctuary. When they entered, he was standing on the platform, arms folded behind his back, staring at the computer images floating all around him. He didn't turn around when they came in, but he did say, "The area has been compromised."

"It's not safe out here," said Sasha. "We need to relocate back to the satellite office."

"I know."

Milla approached Ford. "It won't be for long, just until we secure the area." She put a hand on his shoulder. "And you'll be with friends."

Ford turned around and looked at them all. He sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Let's go."

"Is there anything you need to tell us before we leave?"'

"Nothing I can think of," said Ford. "Let's go."

Without looking back, he followed them out of his sanctuary. He tried steeling his mind, willing himself to remember who he was, as he always did before stepping into the tree stump and out into the camp, to prepare burgers like he always did, if the coals were hot enough, and those darn kids always heading into the off-limits areas in the woods...

 


	5. Office Workers

Sasha, Milla, Raz, Ford, and Oleander all returned to the office. It was very late at night, or possibly very early in the morning, by the time they pulled the car back into the parking garage. Sasha's ID card could be swiped to unlock the building after hours. "Tomorrow we'll find the rest of the patients," he said as they entered. "I must evaluate what kind of danger they may be in."

"If we're not doing anything, why did we come back to the office?" Oleander grumbled.

"I left something here," said Sasha.

"Well, I packed my emergency travel kit," said Oleander, "so I'll just pitch my tent-"

"You're staying in a hotel."

"We didn't have hotels in the war, soldier." Oleander didn't argue further. Since the psychic brain tanks, Oleander had been on probation with the Psychonauts, and had lost a lot of things, not the least of which was a sizable portion of his paycheck which led to him selling his home and moving to the camp full-time.

"Your responsibility in all this will be to watch Ford," Milla said. "After this case, they'll be clear to take you off probation."

"Yeah, yeah..." he waved his hand dismissively. "I don't see why we couldn't just do a cover-up like with the Psychic Martians."

Raz looked up. "Wait, what?"

Sasha unlocked the front door and ushered Raz in, hand on his back. "Raz, come with me. He trusts you."

That's when Raz remembered that they'd left Fred here. It felt like they'd been gone for ages, and when they got to the office they'd find a bleached skeleton with very long legs lying on the industrial carpet. Instead they found him in a conference room next to the empty office he'd been in, with his enormous nose buried in an issue of True Psychic Tales, surrounded by empty chip bags from the vending machine.

"Hey, Fred," said Raz.

"Hey." Fred glanced over the top of the comic. "You were gone a while."

"Yeah, sorry."

Fred got up and stretched, then began scooping up the chip bags. "What happens now?"

"You'll be spending tonight here," said Sasha. "The building is secure, and if it makes you feel better you'll have a personal guard." Sasha held out his hand and indicated Raz. "Razputin, your job will be to stop anybody who tries to kill Fred."

Raz pulled down his goggles. "Oh, yeah," he said, "an assignment!"

Fred looked relieved. The fact that he was going to be guarded by a kid didn't bother him- in his head Raz was a hero who'd already saved him. He didn't even mind that Raz would technically be asleep, just so long as Fred wouldn't be alone.

First thing in the morning, the Psychonauts would see what the rest of the patients had been doing for the past year, and to assess if there was any danger to them. At this stage it was entirely possible that not only were the others not in danger, but the events were not linked to Thorney Towers at all. It could be that Sheegor had been taken to extract secrets from, given that she spent all her time these days in a highly classified government lab. Milla would be taking the clues extracted from Whispering Rock and trying to track down where she might be. And Edgar might have just been part of a political statement, or an unrelated grudge. Also Fred was a wimp.

Still, the idea that it was related to Thorney Towers made the most sense, and if someone was going around doing things, the Psychonauts would put a stop to it. A half hour on the computer told Sasha that Boyd worked at an insurance firm in a nearby city, that Gloria lived in New Jersey and commuted to New York City every day for her work, and that Crispin was a patient at Shady Pines, an institution for long-term but relatively low-maintenance mental patients. Seeing Gloria would take the most time, more than the rest put together since they couldn't take the jet, and Crispin wouldn't be in much danger if he was so low-profile, Sasha decided to start with Boyd.

The next morning he found Raz and Fred sleeping in the break room, Fred on two couches and Raz on a chair. "Get up," he said, tapping their feet. "It's time for work."

Raz sat up and rubbed his eyes over the goggles, still asleep. "What are we going to do?"

"We're visiting Boyd Cooper," he replied.

"This early in the morning? Is his office even open?"

Sasha went over to the window and opened the blinds. "It's eleven A.M.," he said.

"Wow."

"Am I coming?" asked Fred.

"Yes, if you want to." He pulled his keys out. "Come with me. We'll take my car. I'm sorry it doesn't have a lot of leg room," he added.

 

~*~

 

Fred felt uncomfortably large in the cube farm. The walls of the cubicles came up to around Sasha's chin, and of course they towered over young Raz. Fred, however, was taller than the cube walls and he could see well into the inner sanctums of many nine-to-five desk jockeys. Most of them were working, but Fred noticed a few web browsers on non-business pages, several games of solitaire in progress, and one napper as he scanned the open room. 'Maybe I would make a good floor supervisor,' he thought.

Sasha flashed his badge to the secretary as Fred was looking around, and she directed them on how to find Boyd's cube. Raz tugged on Fred's pant leg when it became apparent he didn't notice them moving on. Still, he easily fell into step with them long before they located the cubicle of Boyd Cooper.

When Fred spotted Boyd's head, his face lit up with recognition. "Hey, Boyd," he called, "Long time no-" but then he stopped short when he saw the rest of Boyd and his cubicle.

"Oh, wow," said Raz, wide-eyed, lifting up his goggles.

Most of the cubicle walls in this office were empty of clutter. Several pictures of families or cartoons of office humor were permitted, but overall the place had a feeling of tidiness. However, someone had to have made an exception for Boyd. Hundreds of index cards and post-its were tacked, taped, or stuck to the walls of Boyd's cubicle, right up to the top edge and down to the floor, even under his desk. Each one had a word or a phrase scrawled on it: "Contacts: Red Manter 402-0402," "Re: Spreadsheets ΣA1-A17," "1971-1979," and "$=¥? Inquire." The area between the notes was a web of string, yarn, and rubber bands that went from card to card, connecting phrases, ideas, tasks, and notices. Boyd himself was seated in the center of the information maelstrom, tapping away at his outdated '99 computer. His jacket was draped over the back of his chair, but his white shirt was still buttoned and his wacky tie was tied.

Boyd spun around in his chair and smiled at his visitors. "Hey, you're here! Come on in." He ushered Sasha and Fred in saying, "Nice to meetchya- great to see you again, Fred." And then, to Raz, "Hey, I didn't know you were real!"

"Uh, Boyd?" Raz said, gesturing to the cubicle walls. Sasha shushed him.

"How've ya been, Boyd?" said Fred, trying to get over the shock of how much Boyd's cubicle looked like his padded cell.

"Can't complain," said Boyd. "I've had this job almost a year and haven't burned the place down yet, eh?" he elbowed Fred as if they were buddies sharing a private joke.

"Uh, yeah."

Sasha stepped in. "Mr. Cooper, I am Agent Nein of the Psychonauts. We're here to ask you a few things."

Boyd glanced behind him at a note card that said: "PSYCHONAUTS." It was connected directly to two post-its, one reading, "Gather supplemental material," and the other reading, "Real? Y/N," and both were webbing off into infinity. This made perfect sense to Boyd and he reached under a desk and pulled out a binder. "This is everything they gave me when I got outta the asylum."

"Actually, we're more interested in what's been happening after that," said Sasha.

Raz raised his hand a little. "Uh, Boyd?"

"Nothing's been happening, though," said Boyd. "Just lots of data entry and nights with the guys."

"Aside from us, has anybody contacted you about your time at Thorney Towers?"

"Not that I can remember," said Boyd. "Uh... oh, yeah, Edgar sent me an invite to his gallery thing. I said no."

"I see. No one has contacted you regarding your extended imprisonment?"

"Not really. Some guy said he was sorry I got left behind, but I don't know who he was."

"Think about this next one. Has anyone threatened you or attempted physical harm?"

"Only when I'm on the call center," said Boyd. Then he laughed heartily. Boyd seemed to get a kick out of office humor.

Sasha, however, did not. "It's very important that you tell me what you know."

"But I don't know," said Boyd.

Suddenly, Raz blurted out, "Boyd, what's with all the note cards?"

Sasha hushed Raz and Fred sagged his shoulders. Boyd, however, looked clueless. "What do you mean?"

Sasha said, "Nothing," at the same time Raz said, "It looks like your conspiracy theories."

Boyd looked at the web on his walls, a curious frown on his face. "Do you really think so?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Boyd shrugged. "Oh, well."

"Getting back on the subject," said Sasha a bit loudly. "I need to know if you are absolutely certain that no one this past year has attempted to contact you regarding Thorney Towers."

"Now that you mention it..." Boyd frowned. "There is this one guy three cubes over," he pointed, "who was always asking me about my time in the loony bin. I don't talk to him anymore if I can help it."

Sasha made a note of that.

Another office worker, Ted, poked his head into the cubicle. "Hey, Boyd!"

"Hey, Ted."

Ted held up a white paper bag. "Here's lunch. Your change is in a napkin on the bottom."

"Oh, great!" Boyd took the bag and peeked in. "Best meatball subs around," he said.

"The soda fountain was broken, though," said Ted, "so for a drink I just got you a thing of milk." He held up a white plastic bottle with a picture of a cow on it.

Boyd looked up and froze. "Did you say... MILK?" he stared at Ted and the milk bottle, eyes wide and somewhat vacant.

Sasha held his arm out in front of Raz, who pulled his goggles on. Fred hunched his shoulders even more.

Then, surprisingly, Boyd's face broke into a huge grin. "I love milk!" He took the bottle and raised it up as if in a toast.

Sasha, Raz, and Fred visibly relaxed.

"Mind if I eat in front of you?" Boyd asked, taking his sub out of the bag. "We only get a 35-minute lunch hour."

"Perhaps we'll visit your coworker three cubicles down while you eat," said Sasha.

He left the cubicle. Fred hesitated, then followed in step behind Sasha. Raz, however, stayed behind, seemingly enraptured by Boyd's walls.

Just before Fred got to the cubicle doorway, he heard tinny dance music coming from a radio. If I were the floor supervisor, he thought smugly, I'd say he had to wear headphones. In his imagination, Fred told the guy in an authoritative voice, not a tiny little meek voice that punctuated everything with "um," and "if that's okay with you."

Then the guy came into view. He was a shadowy figure in a brown trench coat and a hat that hid his face well. He was wearing a necktie over his coat, and he also was using it as a mouse pad. Except for him, his chair, and an old Macintosh computer, the cubicle was completely empty.

"Excuse me," said Sasha. "I'm with the Psychonauts. I have several questions for you."

"I am an office worker," said the shady character. "I wear a tie to work in an office."

"Yes," said Sasha. "I understand you spoke to a Boyd Cooper about Thorney Towers."

"Boyd Cooper is a coworker. We work in the same office."

"Yes. You spoke to him about Thorney Towers."

"I am working on a project. It is part of my job." He mashed his fingers clumsily on his keys. Sasha looked at the computer screen. It was black.

Sasha looked back at the man.

"Thank God it is Friday," said the man.

Sasha backed away.

Fred made to follow, but suddenly he could clearly hear the music:

 

_So how could I ever refuse?_   
_I feel like I win when I lose_   
_Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war_   
_Waterloo - Promise to love you for ever more_   
_Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to_

 

A chill went down his spine.

Back at Boyd's cubicle, Boyd was explaining something to Raz. Raz sat on the floor, legs crossed, looking up at Boyd, clearly enraptured with what he had to say.

"Okay," said Raz carefully. "So the CEO..." he traced his finger from the string coming out of a Post-it(r) that said "CEO" "... answers to the President... who-"

Boyd shook his head. "No, you're reading it backward. See, start with me, right here. I work under my boss, who works under the department head, who responds to the President, who works with the CEO, who has to get the blessing from the Board of Directors, who represent the shareholders, who are subject to the whims of the market, and they all live together in the house that Jack built." And he finished by pointing to an index card up at the top of his wall that read, "House that Jack Built."

"... Oh," said Raz.

"Razputin, it's time to go," said Sasha.

"Aw, I was just about to figure Boyd out."

"Another time, perhaps." Sasha turned to Boyd. "That man. Do not tell him anything about Thorney Towers. Do not mention your involvement. Do not go anywhere alone with him, and never do anything he asks you to that is not directly a part of your job. I will return soon."

"Okie-doke," said Boyd. "Don't need to tell me twice. That guy is _nuts_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the scene with Fred in Boyd's office, as well as a later scene, were both written together back when the story was barely started.


	6. Shady Pines

Shady Pines wasn't too far from Boyd's office. Sasha called ahead and explained why he was coming, and they were glad to let him visit. Raz, however, was not old enough to visit a non-relative, so he was sent back to Milla with much protesting. When it was just Sasha and Fred in the car, it got very awkward. Fred was coming on his own desire to see what had become of Crispin.

Shady Pines was in a building somewhat removed from the rest of the world. The building itself was small, but the grounds surrounding it were spacious. The name was sincere; once they drove past the gate and the guard house, the path was surrounded by tall, thick pine trees that gave the whole place a cozy atmosphere as well as helped to muffle the noise from the nearby highway. By the time you got to the actual building, you couldn't sense anything of the outside world.

Sasha parked under a tree and got out. Fred tried twice and finally followed. He looked around with wonder as he followed Sasha, who as always looked straight ahead. You couldn't see the chain link fence from here, and it really felt like they were out in the middle of a forest.

Inside, it was a little dim. The floor was tile, the ceiling was sectioned, and the walls were cinder block, but it was by no means an unfriendly environment. The lobby chairs had salmon-colored padding, and the walls were covered with sloppy paintings done by patients and proudly displayed. There was a receptionist stand, but it displayed a sign that said 'Back in 5.' A nurse was passing by, but other than that it was quiet.

Sasha flashed his badge to the nurse. "I'm with the Psychonauts. We contacted here earlier today about your patient, Crispin Whytehead?"

The nurse looked from the badge to Sasha's face, and then she smiled. She was incredibly perky. It was just as heartwarming as it was annoying. "Oh, hello! Agent Nein, right? I'm nurse Rumi Hidaka, I'm the one you spoke with." She shook his hand eagerly. Sasha remained indifferent. "Well, it's like I told you on the phone. You can talk to him all you want, but he just can't respond. He's such a dear, too."

Fred almost laughed at that; clearly she was projecting her own perky personality onto the catatonic patients around her, because Fred would have never in a million years described Crispin as a 'dear'... unless it was a "dear, sweet lord what a pain in the neck he is!"

"As a Psychonaut, I'm expertly trained in cracking difficult minds."

"I don't know about that," said Nurse Hidaka, "I don't want you to damage him any further."

"Don't worry. In a situation like this, the only risk to the psyche will be of my own. I am very sensitive to my subjects."

"All right," said Nurse Hidaka. "Go wait in the patient lounge. I'll be there with Dr. Forever to supervise."

Sasha nodded, and then motioned for Fred to follow him. The lounge was just down the hall. It was a very nice, well-lit hall with bulletin boards hosting announcements and showing off more patients art projects. A potted fern sat in the corner, next to a dedication plaque that Fred couldn't read. It looked more like an elementary school than a mental hospital.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Fred asked.

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"It just... doesn't look much like a mental hospital."

Sasha telekinetically opened the door to the lounge. Fred followed him in, banging his head on the top of the door frame.

"That must get old very fast," Sasha commented as he mentally pulled out a chair for himself. There were several round cafeteria-type tables over on one end of the room, near a shelf full of worn old games. The other half of the room had a battered old television and some tired furniture. Lively abstract paintings on the wall attempted to brighten up the room, and found moderate success.

Fred pulled out a chair and tried to sit down. After two failed attempts, he managed to fold his legs with his knees under the table and his feet behind the seat. "This, too," he said.

"Why do you say that?" Sasha asked, hands folded, now taking out a cigarette and lighting it. "I mean, that it doesn't look like a mental hospital."

"I dunno. Where are the chains? Where are the patients strapped to beds in the halls because there are no more rooms? I haven't heard any screaming since I got here."

"Not all mental hospitals are like Thorney Towers."

"But Thorney Towers was considered one of the best when it opened."

Dr. Forever entered then, silently. Nurse Hidaka was behind him, rolling in a wheelchair that carried a small, pasty white man with blue hair and milky eyes. "Here he is," said Nurse Hidaka. "Sit up straight, dear." She adjusted Crispin to a better sitting position, but he slumped right back down.

Fred had a gut reaction to Crispin the moment he saw him. His whole body tensed like a magnet and his stomach knotted itself and sank as if he had swallowed bricks. Spending the last year in peaceful contentedness had done wonders for him, and he was so at ease with himself that he'd forgotten just how much of a strong emotional reaction he had to this man.

Suddenly he had a memory, a memory that lasted for years. He was struggling, writhing, suffering, burning from the inside out. Constantly he cried out for help, for relief, and there stood this man, enjoying it as a relief from boredom, taunting and teasing, prodding and poking and driving him further into his madness.

Now he sat slumped, drooling and vacant. Fred would have felt pity for him if he didn't vividly remember what pity for Crispin had brought him before, and if there wasn't something nagging him about this.

"The poor fellow," Nurse Hidaka was saying. "They found him on the island the day after the tower blew up. He was so sick from all the smoke, and his eyes were infected. They brought him to the city hospital and treated him. He made a full recovery except for his eyes, poor guy. The cataracts were so bad, and mixed with the infection his vision couldn't be saved. All that time, he never did anything, never said anything. Couldn't even tell us his name. Someone else involved told us his name. A nice, tall fellow."

'That was me,' thought Fred, 'and the only reason I bothered was because we happened to be in the same room at the same time while the Psychonauts sorted this mess out. I should have let him rot as a John Doe, and I would have if I didn't suspect it would be doing him a favor.' Then: 'Whoa. Where did _that_ come from?'

"He doesn't speak," said Nurse Hidaka, "and he can't see, but he knows voices and he likes it when you talk to him."

Meanwhile, Dr. Forever was nodding in agreement.

'That doesn't sound at all like Crispin,' thought Fred, 'unless that's her projecting onto him again.' Indeed, in this state Crispin was very much a blank slate, and every scarce movement of his was open to interpretation.

Nurse Hidaka straightened him up again, but he slid through her arms, which made Fred chuckle. He remembered how much like pudding Crispin was if you tried to scoop him up when he didn't want you to.

Sasha placed his psycho-portal onto Crispin's head. He focused, and both were still, until Sasha dropped his stance. "There is a mental block keeping me out. Razputin said it kept him out that night, but the block shouldn't hold after Dr. Loboto's death."

Nurse Hidaka and Dr. Forever glanced at each other. "Dr. Loboto?" said Nurse Hidaka in disbelief. "You don't mean Dr. _Caligosto_ Loboto, do you?"

"Yes," said Sasha. "He headed the brain tank operation, but he didn't survive the night."

"We have Dr. Caligosto Loboto as a patient here."

"Could it be the same Dr. Loboto?" Sasha wondered out loud.

Nurse Hidaka raised an eyebrow. "How many Dr. Caligosto Lobotos do you think there are?"

"Let me see him."

"I'm not sure if-"

"This is very important," said Sasha.

"I suppose it's okay," said Nurse Hidaka, "if only the Psychonaut goes." She looked at Dr. Forever. "Don't you think?"

Dr. Forever shrugged.

"Okay. I'll stay here with Cris," said Fred, who had been eyeing Crispin this whole time.

Dr. Forever motioned for Sasha to follow, and led him down the hall. After several turns they moved to a different ward. Finally they stopped in front of a door. Dr. Forever took out a key and unlocked the door. Sasha stepped in and Dr. Forever closed and locked it behind. Sasha was in an area no larger than a broom closet, with a door in front of him that locked from his side. He unlocked it and slowly opened the door.

It was incredibly dark. The only light came from a fluorescent square in the alcove. Sasha could see the room was padded, and a glint in the corner.

"Turn on the light if you want," a high voice cackled. "That is you, isn't it, Nurse Hidaka?"

"It's Sasha Nein of the Psychonauts." He found a switch and flipped it. Then he saw what was undoubtedly the same Dr. Loboto from the brain tank operation at Thorney Towers.

"Psychonauts, Psychonauts, where have I heard that before?" Loboto rubbed his non-chin with his left hand- his gleaming metal claw having been removed for the safety of himself and those around him. "Oh, yes, that two-bit spoon-bending government agency. What brings you here?"

"I was under the impression that you had died after you were blasted from the top of the tower."

"Oh, yes, I did" said Dr. Loboto. "But I'm feeling much better now."

Sasha wanted to question that, but he had a feeling that, if an answer was to be found, it wouldn't come from Dr. Loboto.

"I bet you're curious about why they're coming," said Loboto. "They've been coming and they won't stop. What we had? They want it, that's why they did what they did. And they don't want you to know. That's why they won't stop until we're all dead. But don't worry. I'll be ready for them." Then he threw his head back and cackled, and gave Sasha no more information, no matter what Sasha did or asked.

"How are you keeping up the mental block?" said Sasha. "You're not a more powerful psychic than I am- how is the block strong enough to keep me out?"

"I'll not have you meddling around in my employees brains," said Loboto, "even if you are working on the experiment with me!"

"Very well," thought Sasha, "then I'll have to take a look inside your brain."

 

~*~

 

"How do you know Crispin?" Nurse Hidaka asked Fred after Sasha and Dr. Forever had left.

Fred looked away from his nemesis. "Oh, uh, I used to work where he was a patient."

"Was he a lot like he is now?"

"Yeah." Then, he told a lie to make Nurse Hidaka smile. "He might be doing a little better, actually."

It worked, and she did. "We do have some of the best treatments," she said proudly. "Oh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"No, it's fine, it's true," said Fred, remembering the rows of restrained patients, screaming out for want of sanity.

"I need to bring him back so I can start the afternoon meds," said Nurse Hidaka, standing up.

"Mind if I stick with him?" asked Fred. The nagging had finally reached solid fruition. He realized what it was.

"That would be so nice for him," said Nurse Hidaka. "He gets lonely in the afternoons."

'I'm sure he does,' thought Fred. They walked down the hall together in silence, and Fred decided that he liked Nurse Hidaka. She showed him to a small room where Crispin stayed. It was bare except for a single bed pushed against a window looking out into a cluster of pine trees. Nurse Hidaka eased Crispin out of the chair and onto the floor across from his bed. "He likes it better here," she explained.

Then she left, which meant Fred and Crispin were alone in the room. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop on the cold, unforgiving tile floor. Fred stood just inside the room, by the closed door. Crispin was slumped in the corner, blind eyes still staring ahead vacantly.

Finally, Fred spoke in a surprisingly cold voice. "You can drop the act Crispin. I know you're in there."

Crispin grinned slightly. "Can't pull one over on you, eh, General?"

Fred winced. "Don't call me that."

"Well, you're the first one to see through the act. I haven't broken the charade since they found me on the island. By the way, thank you for coming back for me," Crispin added with as much dignified sarcasm as he could muster.

"Thank _you_ for all the years of friendly conversation and competition," replied Fred.

"Touché." No longer needing to slouch, Crispin straightened up and stretched his shoulder blades. He was no longer confined to a straitjacket; as Sasha had said, treatment of the mentally ill had improved leaps and bounds since Fred's imprisonment, and today straitjackets were a last resort rather than a default necessity on the mentally ill.

"So what's with the act?" asked Fred. "I mean- it wasn't always an act, was it?"

"Of course not, don't be so stupid. Maybe I don't remember why I was there to begin with, but I never wanted to be there. No more than you did, or Teglee, or Cooper..." Crispin shook his head.

"So why now?"

"Because they're coming after all of us. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. Of course you have; that's why you haven't left arms reach of the Psychonauts. You don't want them to kill you."

"Who's _they_?" Fred was getting confused.

"Who's 'they'? How should I know? I only know what I heard from Dr. Loboto and that short, angry man he was working with. There was more than one manner of intrigue going on there, you know. Or didn't you realize that we were there for _fifty-five years_."

"That can't be true," said Fred. "I'm only thirty-four."

Crispin made a _tch_ sound with his tongue. "Doesn't the world seem a bit different to you, Fred?"

"Well... I guess, but I figured-"

"Someone's trying to cover their tracks, or else track down the secret of what happened, and either way they can't risk the world finding out. And tell me, why would they go after a poor old vegetable like me when there are much more looming threats to revealing their secrets, threats that call attention to themselves whatever they do, or set up shows depicting what they're trying to hide, or sit in the laps of their enemies, the Psychonauts. I'm staying here and alive, thank you very much."

"Well, yeah..." said Fred, "but what kind of life are you surviving for?"

"This may surprise you, Bonaparte, but I lead a very active inner life." He sighed. "My only regret is that I never learned to read Braille. And who would teach someone like my façade to read?" Crispin seemed genuinely sad at that thought, but, again, Fred didn't feel inclined to pity him. He changed his tone quick enough anyway and said, "Have fun hiding with the Psychonauts. They'll come after them first, and you with them."

"Have fun doing absolutely nothing for the rest of your life," replied Fred.

Crispin grinned. "Oh, wait and see," he said in a sinister way.

 

~*~

 

Outside of Loboto's room, Dr. Forever was waiting patiently for Sasha to signal that he had finished. After a while, he heard the doorknob rattling. Instead of opening it, he tapped his fingernail on the surface of the door and waited until he heard the other door close and lock itself, thus ensuring that Dr. Loboto could not escape. Then he unlocked and opened the door, letting Sasha out. He looked up at him expectantly (Dr. Forever was not a tall man; he almost reached six feet, but not quite.)

Sasha looked back down at Dr. Forever, reading his expression. "There is nothing in that man that I can understand."

Dr. Forever shrugged sympathetically.

"This is a matter of urgent importance," said Sasha. "I know confidentiality is an important part of your profession, but lives are at stake. I need information on the patients I've come to see today."

Dr. Forever reached into his coat and pulled out a manila folder and a thick black Sharpie. He reached into the folder and pulled out a sheet of paper, which he made quite a few marks on and handed to Sasha.

Sasha took the paper and read it over. It had Dr. Loboto's name and physical information. His medical information had been blacked out just now, but a new piece of information had been added: an address.

_Dr. Jonathan Kai_   
_514 Industral Park West_   
_Suite 26_

Sasha looked back at Dr. Forever, whose expression hadn't changed. He nodded in understanding.

 

 


	7. The Dutchman

 

While Sasha, Fred, and Raz were visiting Boyd, Milla, Oleander, and Ford were going through old records, looking for information on Thorney Towers. Sasha dropped Raz off before going to Shady Pines, and he joined them there for the rest of the day.

However, looking through endless files for information you're not finding is very tiring, and it wasn't too long before they began to burn out. Around four thirty, Milla stood up, straightened her skirt, and said "Well, I think this is all we can do without something to eat."

Oleander pushed back from the desk and stretched. his arms. "Great," he said, "I brought along the camping stove. Let's go shoot some pheasants and get started."

"No need," said Milla, "We'll go to the strip mall across the street and charge a meal to the expense account." Then: "Wait, pheasant?"

"Yeah. What? It's a gentleman's game."

"I know, it's just..."

"What? You think that just because I'm a die-hard army guy doesn't mean I don't have any other facets to my personality. See? I just said 'facets.' Ever hear Patton say that?"

"Well, actually-"

"I vote for the expense account one." Raz cut in.

Oleander sputtered an objection.

"See, that's Democracy in action," Raz continued. "Isn't that what most of your heroes fought and died for?"

"Then it's settled," said Milla. "Let's go to that nice Italian place next door. Raz, would you please get Ford?"

"Can do." Raz went to the corner of the room, where Ford was sweeping the walls of the office. "Hey, Ford."

"Ah! Dagnabbit. You kids keep tracking mud on the walls, how'm I supposed to keep it clean?"

"It's time for lunch."

"No it ain't! The coals ain't hot yet. It'll be at least a week."

"Oh, that's too bad. Let's just go next door and get some spaghetti instead."

"Can't leave the coals, whole camp'll burn down!"

"I hired a squirrel to watch the grill while you're gone."

"Bah! Squirrels aren't reliable. They always get bored and scamper away before a full minute even passes. That's why you gotta hire a salamander."

"I did hire a salamander. I don't know where you got squirrel from."

"Oh! Well that's different. Let's go."

Raz grinned back at Milla and Oleander. "I speak his language."

Lunch was a quiet affair. Raz couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was a stale taste to the afternoon. Not the food, it was fresh and zesty. Rather the mood was what was stale. It wasn't until after the plates were clean but before the check came that Raz was able to put his finger on what was bothering him. Oleander had gone to the bathroom, and Cruller was staring blankly at the wall of the restaurant.

The music on the speakers changed. A light Celtic song started to play.

 

_The Dutchman's not the kind of man_   
_Who keeps his thumb jammed in the dam_   
_That holds his dreams in,_   
_But that's a secret that only Margaret knows._

_When Amsterdam is golden in the morning,_   
_Margaret brings him breakfast,_   
_She believes him._   
_He thinks the tulips bloom beneath the snow._

_He's mad as he can be, but Margaret only sees that sometimes,_   
_Sometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes._

 

"Milla," said Raz, "when Ford's mind split in that psychic duel that left him... like he is now..."

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering, you know, why exactly he became like he is?"

"Well... because on his own, he can't wrap his mind around what he is, so he guesses based on broken memories and his surroundings."

"... It must be really hard for him to leave the mother load."

"Very hard. He is afraid that he won't find his way back."

 

_The Dutchman still wears wooden shoes,_   
_His cap and coat are patched with love_   
_That Margaret sewed in._   
_Sometimes he thinks he's still in Rotterdam._

_He watches the tug-boats down canals_   
_And calls out to them when he thinks_   
_He knows the Captain._   
_Till Margaret comes to take him home again_

_Through unforgiving streets that trip him, though she holds his arm,_   
_Sometimes he thinks he's alone and he calls her name._

 

It must be horrible, Raz thought. He was still young, and adventurous, and he couldn't imagine being cooped up in a tiny place like that all day. Maybe Ford couldn't stand it, either. Maybe that's why he left, because at least if he lost his mind he wouldn't have to think about everything else he'd lost.

 

_The windmills swirl the winter wind_   
_She winds his muffler tighter_   
_They sit in the kitchen._   
_And the tea with whiskey keeps away the dew._

_He sees her for a moment, calls her name,_   
_She makes his bed up humming_   
_Some old love song,_   
_She learned it when the tune was very new_

_He hums a line or two, they hum together in the night._   
_The Dutchman falls asleep and Margaret blows the candle out._

 

_Let us go to the banks of the ocean_   
_Where the walls rise above the Zuider Zee._   
_Long ago, I used to be a young man_   
_And dear Margaret remembers that for me._

 

Raz and Milla were quiet until Oleander returned. "You paid the check yet?"

"Not yet," said Milla. "We're waiting for the waitress."

"Huh. Hey, where's Ford?"

It was just then that Milla and Raz realized that they were the only ones at the table. Raz jumped up into a standing position on his chair. "When did that happen?"

"He must have left while we were talking," said Milla. "I don't know how he does that."

Oleander clapped his hands. "All right, troops, fall in. We'll organize a search and find him on the double! Milla- you flag down the waitress and settle our bill. Then commence a search of the restaurant and the immediate areas. Razputin, you'll search the strip mall and ask if anybody's seen him. I'll put my army tracking skills to good use and hunt him down. Let's move, move, move!"

Raz didn't waste a moment. He ran out of the restaurant and did a quick survey of the area.

 

~*~

 

The restaurant was in the corner of a small shopping plaza with a big parking lot and surrounded by busy roads on all sides. Inside the roads, besides the restaurant, was a strip of stores and a discount big box retailer across a stretch of asphalt. Raz started in the smaller stores. Nobody in the dollar store had seen him, nor the video rental shop, the nail salon, or the sub shop.

Last in line was a coffee shop. Raz wasn't sure Ford could have gotten this far, but he went inside anyway. Imagine his surprise when he saw Ford Cruller standing there behind the counter, in a green apron, working the cappuccino machine.

"Ford!" Raz cried happily.

Ford held up the cup. "Small cappuccino for Dennis."

A man in a business suit came up, took the drink, thanked him, and left.

"Ford, when did you get here?"

"I'm all outta drinks," he said. "You gotta order over there! I'm not a mind reader."

"Ford, you don't work in a coffee shop."

"What? Then why'm I wearing this apron, then? Answer me that."

"Uh..."

"I worked here for years, and I don't need any young whippersnappers tellin' me where I am and am not employed."

Raz sent out a message to Milla and Oleander; "I found him. He's working in a coffee shop."

In an instant, they were there.

"It's much harder, this far away from any psitanium," said Milla as Oleander tried to wrangle Ford. "At the camp, he's not near the mother load above ground but there's still a fair amount of it around."

"Is that why arrowheads are currency at the camp store? He knows it's valuable?"

"Yes."

Patiently, Milla coaxed Ford out from behind the counter. Once he took the apron off, he seemed to forget that he had ever been a barista. When he sat down in the back seat of the car, for a moment it looked like he forgot he had ever been anything.

 

_Let us go to the banks of the ocean_   
_Where the walls rise above the Zuider Zee._   
_Long ago, I used to be a young man_   
_And dear Margaret remembers that for me._

 

Oleander saw how down Raz looked when they got out of the car back at the office (Milla had told him what they had been discussing.) "It's not all bad, soldier," said Oleander.

"Hm?" Raz looked at him curiously. "What's not?"

"Being multi-faceted the way he is. Did you wonder who's watching my rabbits while we're out here?"

"Um... I didn't, actually. Why, who is?"

Oleander dialed a number on his phone and handed it to Raz. It was the number for the emergency line just outside the main lodge.

After three rings, someone picked up. "Yeah, whatchya need?" It was unmistakably Ford Cruller's voice.

Raz double-checked the number, and he was sure it belonged to the tethered land-line that was miles away. "Um... who am I speaking to?"

"Animal handler Cruller! Who's this?"

"Um... I'm looking for a camper named Hugh. Last name Jass. Can you see if he's around?"

"Hold on, I'll check."

Raz hung up the phone and shuddered. "That was unbelievably creepy." He followed the others back into the office where they had been working. Milla and Oleander were at two desks opposite each other, and Ford stood by a window, his back to it, looking out over the empty room. Either he could see something they couldn't, or he was searching for something that wasn't there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Dutchman"  
> written by Michael Peter Smith


	8. Old Partners

 

With nothing better to do at the moment, Sasha decided to look into Dr. Loboto. There was something in his background that was tied to the case, Sasha could tell. He followed the address that Dr. Forever had given him to the office of Dr. Kai. He found it in a classy industrial park on the second floor of a quaint brick building surrounded by greenery. The carpet was thin and the lights fluorescent, but the walls were clean and the signage was clear. Sasha had no problem locating the office.

Fred, meanwhile, had opted to wait in the car. "If he worked with Dr. Loboto, I don't want anything to do with him," he'd said. "Besides, he's probably a dentist, and I don't go to the dentist any more than I need to."

"That's fine," said Sasha. "Just don't open the doors for anyone and keep the windows up." The weather was cool, so air wouldn't be a problem. The windows were tinted, and indeed the whole car was pretty secure for a car. So he didn't worry about Fred much- not that he thought Fred was in any immediate danger- as he located the office.

As soon as he opened the door, though, he felt something was wrong. The door was heavy and swung closed behind him- accompanied by a click. The door was locked.

Inside it was quiet, except for the hum of the light and the filter of a large aquarium, full of water and plants but no fish. There was a counter for a receptionist, but the only thing behind it was a large computer that looked as if it would be more at home in the 1950s than a modern day dentist office.

Most unsettling, though, was the magazine arrangement on the table: National Geographic, Opera Digest, Enquirer, Sheet Music Quarterly, Cosmopolitan, American Girl, Cat Fancy, and Entertainment Weekly. They were cascaded so that the first letter of each magazine spelled out, in a creepy patchwork fashion, NOESCAPE (or, if you were being picky, NOESCAPEntertainment.)

A little girl, around Raz's age, peeked out from the door to the exam rooms. "The doctor will be with you shortly," she said. Before Sasha could say anything she was gone.

Sasha sat down. He drummed his fingers. He picked up Opera Digest to see what was playing at the Hippodrome. Then he remembered he wasn't a patient and put the magazine back (now the arrangement read NatESCAPOpera, which was much less threatening.) Sasha knocked on the door. "I'm with the Psychonauts. I need to speak with you."

"Just a minute," Dr K. sang from behind the door. "I'm washing my hair." This close to the door, Sasha could hear music coming from the room.

 

omoide ni dakarete ima wa okubyou ni natte  
itami sae kanjirarenai ikikata erande'ru  
思い出に抱かれて今は 臆病になって  
痛みさえ感じられない 生き方選んでる  
(Held by memories, in this moment, I turn into a coward  
And choose a life in which I can't feel pain)

 

Then the door opened and Sasha was face to face with a sandy-haired fortysomething with crazy eyes and a winning smile. "Do you have insurance?" he asked.

"I'm here to ask you about Dr. Loboto."

"I see. That's not an answer to my question."

"I'm not here to have my teeth cleaned."

"So you say."

Dr. Kai shut his mouth and wouldn't say or do anything until Sasha finally said that he did have insurance through his work.

"That's the best kind," said Dr. Kai. "Right this way." He opened the door and stepped aside.

"I'm not here to have my teeth cleaned," Sasha repeated as he stepped through the door.

"So you say." He guided Sasha to an exam room. "Wait here." He closed the door without stepping through, and again it locked, leaving Sasha trapped. He telekinetically reached into the doorknob, trying to find and set the pins, but he couldn't get a feel for it.

The girl from earlier was sitting in the office chair, reading a book with no title. "If you couldn't pay," she said, "he would have agreed to treat you anyway. Mentor is so generous."

"I am not here to have my teeth cleaned."

"So you say," said the girl, still reading.

Dr. Kai let himself in. "Well, are you ready to begin?"

"Yes," said Sasha. "How did you know Dr. Loboto?"

"We worked together briefly."

"How briefly?"

"Two years," said Dr. Kai. "Two years too long."

"In what context did you work with him?"

Dr. Kai didn't answer. He busied himself at the tray of sterilized dentist tools. "You want me to talk about Loboto? I'll tell you what I know. But I only talk while I'm cleaning, if you get my drift."

"It's true," said the girl.

Dr. Kai gestured to her. "My protege, Ego."

She waved.

Sasha had no patience. "It is vitally important that you-"

"On my terms," said Dr. Kai.

Sasha debated with himself, but he couldn't deny how important the information was. In the end, he sat down in the dentist chair.

Immediately a re-purposed belt shot out from the chair around his waist, securing him in the seat. Two more held his wrists in place. "What are you-?"

"Relax," said Dr. Kai. "They react to your tension. It's just to keep you in place."

"Do you often have patients try to escape?"

"They're too easily intimidated," said Dr. Kai. "You use one little experimental sander and they make for the door. But I never try anything on my patients that I haven't tried on myself. And I'm hypersensitive to touch, so if it's fine for me you know you can handle it. Incidentally, I don't get any psychic patients, so you'll find I can place no limitations on your mental abilities."

"You're just as crazy as Loboto," said Sasha.

"I am not crazy," said Dr. Kai, irritated. "I don't do well with other people, so I throw all the energy that should be put into socializing into my work. I love to invent new ways to make it more efficient. Innovate new ways to keep teeth healthy. Imagine a procedure so efficient and effective that you only have to see the dentist once every five years!"

"You'd go out of business."

"Not me, I'd have the patent money. That's why I love innovating. Actually, that's why I partnered up with Loboto in the first place. Open your mouth. Thank you. Now," and Dr. Kai started to clean, "Loboto dreamed of new and bigger inventions, though his were to torture his patients. I couldn't stomach that sort of thing. But what kept me with him was his promise that we would remove the biggest tooth of all. It was a pipe dream, sure, but I was captivated. The man had such a way with polysyllabic words."

Sasha grunted and Dr. Kai removed his tools from Sasha's mouth. "You helped invent the super sneezing powder?"

"What? No! Of course not! When I realized he was talking about the human brain, I dropped him like a hot tomato." He went back to cleaning the teeth. "I met him... let's say... just three years ago? I was in the market for a new dentist, and he was available. I didn't know it then but he'd just gotten out of Thorney Towers. He said he escaped on the back of a black swan. Lots of G-men came around then, nosing about, asking questions. They cornered me, demanding to know what Loboto was telling me about Thorney Towers. He didn't tell me jack, so I didn't tell them jack. Best I can figure they wanted to take him back but couldn't get near him. He got himself off that island, all right.

"Oleander went to the island, I think that's what started this all, right? But he wasn't the only person in fifty years who paid them a visit. Black swans have been coming and going. Oleander came in a boat, so Loboto knew he wasn't one of them. Oleander took him to the mainland so he could get what he needed, and that's about when I met him. Only for a while. I never met Oleander, but he didn't know about me. If he did, he would have driven me out.

"All in all, if you want my opinion, someone was keeping tabs on the island, someone who didn't want them to leave and who wanted to take over the world. Loboto knew it- he told me as much, more or less. Much less. But they couldn't stay. Loboto said that the miracle would come through, if not for the madness.

"'I like you, Johnny,' he'd say," and when Dr. Kai imitated Loboto he sounded almost exactly like him, right down the crackly, cackley voice. "'You're not like the others, but you're not like me. You're gonna go places.' What kind of places? 'Oh, not the places they're sending you. You want my advice? Go to the island and conquer your madness like I did. You'll find a way to bring it all out and with you, and then no one can stop you. Brain tanks? They're just the beginning. They don't know it. I know it.' Well, now, you're just being crazy, I said. 'Of course I am,' he told me, 'but those government men who've been swarming around the island? They come and visit every few years. They know it, too, but they don't know that I know it. No one can know it.' And I said, I can know it. 'Oh, well, yes, you can know it. You see, we weren't supposed to be there, and that was the mistake they wanted to cover up. But when they found we were there, they unlocked the secret that's going to blow this whole thing sky high. The Whispering Rock? No, my dear boy, we've found the Philosopher's Stone!' I asked him what the hell he was talking about, and the conversation went in circles for a while after that.

"Now rinse and spit."

Sasha obliged and was amazed at how fresh his mouth was. "You're saying Oleander didn't bring them to the island."

"That's right."

"He told us he did."

"Ask him again."

"He wouldn't lie about that."

"No. But he may not know he's leading you wrong. Not all Psychics are working for the Psychonauts, for good. The Brain Tank affair is proof of that." Dr. Kai released Sasha's straps. "Ego, please bring this man his parting gifts."

Ego got up and scuttled out without a word.

"I like you," said Dr. Kai, "so I'm going to give you a 'next action.' It's not about brushing or flossing- your brushing is fantastic, by the way, I was pleased. No, you need to find the golden goose."

Ego came back with a small brown package tied with twine.

"Godspeed, Sasha Nein. I have one more thing for you. Hold out your hand." Sasha did so, and Dr. Kai dropped a few broken teeth into his hand. "Those were going to start coming in. You had your lower second molars taken out but not the uppers?"

"They weren't supposed to come in."

"Well, they changed their mind."

Sasha pocketed his teeth and his package, and then quick as he could left the office. Mercifully the doors in front of him were unlocked. Fresh breath or no, Sasha didn't want to stay in that office another second.

When he got outside he kept his eyes down, so he didn't see his car until he was right on top of it. The driver's side door was open and the window was smashed. The seat belt had been cut. There was some blood on the pavement, not a lot. The dash had been hot-wired and a CD was playing.

 

_My my, I tried to hold you back but you were stronger_   
_Oh yeah, and now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight_   
_And how could I ever refuse?_   
_I feel like I win when I lose!_

_Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Omoide ni dakare te ima wa (Cherish these Memories)"  
> from Perfect Blue OST  
> Written by This Time  
> Performed by Misa
> 
> "Waterloo (single)"  
> ABBA 1974


	9. The Theater

Sasha set up a crime scene around the car, but there were just no clues. Whoever did it was familiar with both standard CSI techniques and psychic CSI techniques, and had done a stellar job of covering his or her tracks. The blood on the asphalt belonged to Fred only, the CD in the player was stripped of identifying information, the kidnapper left nothing behind, and Sasha had nothing to work with.

There wasn't a lot of time to focus on that, though, because some equally distressing news reached them two days later: Gloria von Gouton was in the hospital following a suicide attempt. She was found in her apartment, having overdosed on prescription medications, and hadn't yet regained consciousness. No more information was available, so they had to make a special trip to New Jersey for information.

"It doesn't fit, it doesn't add up," Raz was saying on the car ride. This time it was only him and Sasha. "Her mother's suicide really messed her up. She started a suicide prevention clinic, she had all the resources right there!"

"You're right," said Sasha. "It doesn't add up."

They eventually arrived at the hospital where Gloria had been admitted. It was so close to New York City that you could see the skyline from the road. Sasha went right in, flashed his badge to the administrator, and said, "I need to crack a mind."

While Sasha negotiated the terms, Raz took a look at his surroundings. He noticed a familiar face in the waiting room that they were next to. He had to get closer to see for sure, and he couldn't see the face as it sobbed buried in her hands, but Raz could guess who it was. "Crystal?"

Crystal looked up. Her face was blotchy and tear-stained, but it hadn't changed much in the year since Raz had seen her. "Raz?"

"Yep."

"Wow. Are you a double Psychonaut yet?"

"Not quite," said Raz. He sat down in the chair next to her. "How have you been?"

"I was great, thanks to Gloria!" Crystal had trouble talking between sobs. "We met like right after camp when she and the others were passing through Whispering Rock, and she knew something was wrong with me right away! She got me and Clem the best help in the world! I was so much better I couldn't even remember why I wanted to die in the first place, 'cause life is so, so much fun!"

"No wonder you're so upset. Sounds like she means a lot to you."

"Yeah," said Crystal, "but... it's not just that. It's... she was so sure of herself, so full of life and good thoughts, and she had all the same therapies as the rest of us. If she couldn't get better, what hope is there for the rest of us? How long before we all fall back down like she did?"

"Wow." That was quite a bombshell.

Sasha gestured for Raz to follow him. "I have to go," said Raz "But we'll find out what happened. And I'll set it right, I promise."

Crystal nodded and wiped her eyes. "I should have known. Everything will be better when you fix it."

"Yeah. Just don't give up because of this. Okay?"

"Okay." She gave him a weird little smile, like her face had forgotten how to do it properly.

Sasha and Raz went to Gloria's room. It was weird seeing her like this, so pale and sunken when she was usually a shining beacon to everyone around her. Raz had noticed it even in her conservatory at the asylum when she was performing for the pots and plants, but she had a certain glow about her, a radiance that couldn't be seen but could most certainly be sensed, and it penetrated everyone in her presence. That energy was gone now.

"Part of her brain is still active. We must talk to her in her subconscious." He placed a psycho-portal on her forehead. "Are you ready?"

Raz pulled his goggles down. "Let's go."

 

~*~

 

Inside Gloria's mind was about the same as the last time Raz had been there- it was an empty theater getting ready for a play based on Gloria's memories. The only thing that had changed was the set, which was now an incomplete, half-painted slab of balsa wood. Right now the flowers were running about, trying to keep the set from falling over, and Becky was pacing the stage and looking at her clipboard. Bonita Soleil, Gloria's muse, was sitting on a crate on the edge of the stage, almost in the wing, with her wrap over her head. She watched the other actors and the director with mild interest. Up in the balcony, tiny Jasper was struggling to keep his chin above the railing so he could see the play enough to criticize it, but he wasn't having much luck; he kept falling back into his seat and then couldn't get back up because he was so round.

As soon as Sasha and Raz appeared, Becky spotted them. "Oh, good, the understudy!" Becky said with relief. "Our leading man dropped out and we need him to finish the play."

"What's the play this week?" asked Raz, joining Becky.

"The Betrayal of Gloria." She handed Sasha the script. "Here. I made some changes to pages 7 and 23."

Sasha thumbed through the script. "This is the story of how Gloria ended up attempting suicide."

"It's a new play," said Becky. "We haven't opened yet."

"If you want to know what happens, we'll have to do the play," said Raz. As it often works in dreams, Sasha could not read the script through but would know what to say when it was time for him to say it, as long as he had the script.

"Come on, AD," said Becky. It took a minute for Raz to remember that the last time he was in Gloria's mind, Becky had made him the Assistant Director.

"Oh, fantastic," Tiny Jasper called from the balcony in his pitched-up chipmunk voice. "As if the play couldn't get any more dreadful, it's Amateur Night at Gloria's Theater."

"Shut up," said Raz as he passed by Jasper's balcony seat.

"Don't tell me to shut up!" Jasper shouted, leaning over the rail. "I'm entitled to my opinion!"

Raz psiblasted him into his bag of popcorn.

Bonita Soleil walked confidently onstage. "Are we ready to rehearse?" she asked in her incredibly deep man-voice.

"Places!" Becky ordered.

One of the flowers came out onstage. "The beautiful Gloria has just returned from her extended stay at Thorney Towers."

"And it feels wonderful to be back in the theater." Bonita's voice was completely different now- it was light and strong and incredibly feminine. She stood upstage center, her wrap off, her glow filling the theater with light. Though a spotlight was trained on her, it was hardly needed. "To be touching so many lives through my performances and my charity work, it's all I ever dreamed of as I was locked up, a prisoner of my psyche."

Silence.

Raz looked around.

"Leading man!" Becky hissed. "Leading man, it's your line!"

Raz tiptoed through the wing and came up beside Sasha. "Psst! You're on!"

Sasha looked up from the script. "Oh!" Raz nudged him onstage.

"Thanks," whispered Becky.

Sasha cleared his throat. "Gloria von Gouton, you are just as beautiful as you are talented. I present to you this giant novelty check to benefit your charity, but take it also as a token of my love." Since this wasn't a dress rehearsal, the props weren't entirely ready. Sasha had to pantomime handing over a large check.

Several flowers and puppies danced onstage and circled around Bonita. "We love you, Gloria! Thank you for everything!"

"I love you children, too," said Bonita. "I may have been forgotten since my extended leave from the stage, but all that matters is that I'm back."

Raz watched the play from the wing. "Wow," he said to himself. "I'd never admit it to Jasper, but these plays are kind of terrible."

Becky called, "Someone get ready to hit the mood light!"

Sasha, holding the script in one hand, reached into his pocket and found three small jewelry cases. "I have gifts for you, my love. A pair of earrings to decorate your lovely ears. A necklace to highlight your pretty face... and a ring that is my promise to always love you."

"Okay, good," said Becky. "Now kiss."

"Sorry," said Bonita in her normal voice. "I only kiss during dress rehearsals."

"Right, sorry, I forgot."

"Aw." Raz would have enjoyed seeing Sasha and Bonita Soleil have to kiss. That would have been one for the memory vault.

"Now change the lights," Becky directed.

Raz reached up into the catwalks with his telekinesis and spun the mood light around. Immediately the whole theater changed. The bright yellows, pinks, and greens turned into deep blues, reds, and grays. The other cast members grew sharp fangs and claws. The soft curves of the set became harsh and angular. The only things that didn't change were the stagehands and the Psychonauts. Even Bonita's glow dimmed.

Sasha flipped forward in his script. One of the flowers came out and recited, "A year has passed, gentle autumn to bitter winter, to glorious spring and beautiful summer. But as we come upon autumn once more, it will lead into the winter of her discontent."

Without much emotion, Sasha read, "Gloria, I'm leaving you. As you have made me a partner in your theater, I have weaseled my way in and stripped you of all your rights. I never loved you. Now you are alone, and nobody remembers your name." He turned around and marched offstage, standing next to Raz in the wings.

"Good job," Raz whispered.

"Hm." Sasha was watching Bonita, kneeling downstage center. "You really think so?"

Bonita let out an anguished wail. "I came back only to find that my legacy had vanished. The roles I played, the lives I touched... who remembers? But even without that, I had a man who loved me. Now I have nothing. My legacy can vanish, and so too it seems can my heart- no, wait. My legacy can vanish, but not... ugh." Bonita's voice went back to normal again. "Line!"

Becky prompted, "Though my legacy can vanish, not my heart- oh, so too can my heart!"

"Oh, _though_. I got it." She switched back to her stage voice. "Though my legacy can vanish, not my heart- oh, so too can my heart! I cannot go on."

She lay down on the stage. All was still, then the house lights came back up. Becky clapped a few times. "Okay, curtains come down, everybody bows, not a dry eye in the house. Good job, everyone."

Bonita got up and put her shawl back on. "Thanks," she said in her normal voice to Sasha.

"It was nothing," said Sasha. "Very enlightening."

"I hope Gloria doesn't stay like this for long," said Bonita. "We were just starting to get new material."

From the balcony, Jasper squawked, "That was awful! That was a disgusting piece of tripe that would make people vomit and then go home to watch mindless drivel on television because your poor excuse for a theater production frightened them away from developing culture, as you've given them a horrifyingly warped view of it!"

"Hey!" Bonita shouted. "Keep jabbering! I need some white noise to help me fall asleep!"

"Does he ever shut up?" asked Raz.

Bonita shrugged.

"Come, Razputin." Sasha nudged Raz in the shoulder. "I think we've seen all that we need to."

"Is there anything we can do for Gloria?"

"Not right now."

Everything went white, Raz felt himself floating, and then gravity dropped him back into his body. He stumbled backwards. They were back in the hospital. "That kind of makes me dizzy," said Raz.

Sasha took the psycho-portal back. "Tell me what you got from that," said Sasha. He used everything as a teaching moment these days.

"Well, Gloria was really happy to be back, but then her boyfriend was a jerk."

Sasha and Raz walked back to the administration area by where they came in. "Could you distract the woman at the desk for me?" Sasha asked Raz casually.

"Uh, okay."

Sasha disappeared. Raz cleared his throat. "Uh, hello, I'm looking for my sister. She's having a baby and I'm not sure which hospital she's in." Raz pulled out his ID. "My name is Razputin Aquato and my sister's name is Amanda."

"Amanda Aquato..." The receptionist started typing.

"Oh! I forgot! She's probably registered under her married name. She just married her high school sweetheart, uh, Charlie Cuddlewith."

Just then another staff member came out from the door behind the desk area. "Hey, Bev."

"Hey, Ida."

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for Amanda Cuddlewith."

Ida looked over Bev's shoulder. "While you're on the clock? Shouldn't you be working?"

"I am, what-" then suddenly it clicked. She pointed accusingly to Raz. "You little brat!"

Raz was laughing. Then he saw Sasha gesture for him down the hallway and he took off, the ladies shaking their fists at him.

"Where were you?" Raz asked as they got out into the parking lot.

He pulled out an envelope. "I needed to see Gloria's jewelry."

"You broke into the hospital safe?"

"Sometimes a Psychonaut is entitled to bend the rules to achieve a greater goal."

"You broke into the hospital safe."

Sasha tipped the envelope over and poured out the jewelry- sterling silver French hooks with sparkling stones set in each, a thin white gold chain with a pendant, and a white gold ring with a modest stone set in it. All the stones and the pendant were the same, a purple and glittering rock. "Just as I suspected. Pure psitanium."

"Someone gave her jewelry with psitanium?"

Sasha nodded.

"... On purpose?"

"I can't be sure at this point." He put the envelope in his inside coat pocket. "But I can't rule it out." He unlocked the car and they got in. "I'm afraid they're all in danger. Immediate danger, most likely. I need to call headquarters and have the others moved to a safe location." He shook his head. 'I should have made the order sooner,' he thought, but he didn't guard the thought and Raz heard him.

"I hope Fred's okay," was all Raz could think to say.

"I'm reasonably certain he's still alive."

 

~*~

 

He was still alive.

For two days he'd been in a ten-by-ten room with a concrete floor and stone walls. There was no door handle on the inside. No one had said anything. He hadn't even seen anyone since he was taken at the car. They'd blindfolded him, tied his hands behind his back, transported him, and threw him in the room. He'd had no contact since then. He'd managed to wriggle his hands free and used the blindfold to bandage his hand, which was still bleeding on and off. No one had given him food. No one had given him water. No one had spoken to him.

For two days he'd sat there, alone.

Somehow, he wasn't afraid.

 


	10. Oblongata

 

The situation was dire when Sasha got back. He went to HQ and into the conference room that the TTTF (Thorney Towers Task Force) had taken over, Raz on his heels. In that room they found Milla, Oleander, Ford, and Edgar Teglee. Edgar was drawing on the large whiteboard at one end, and "Janitor Cruller" was washing the whiteboard at the other, seemingly unaware that somebody was un-cleaning it at the other end.

"Where are the others?" asked Sasha, looking around.

"Well..." Milla hesitated, counting the ex-patients in her mind.. "Loboto is under complete lockdown. No one gets in to see him except Dr. Forever. Their security is equal to what we would provide, and they won't release him." She took a deep breath. "Boyd is-"

"Boyd snapped a few hours before we got to him," Oleander cut her off brusquely. "Started flinging Molotov cocktails and calling himself the milkman. He's in the psych ward for the next 72 hours 'till they figure out what to do with him. They won't turn him over."

Sasha counted on his fingers. "Sheegor, Edgar, Fred, Gloria, Boyd, Loboto...and Crispin?"

"Crispin is dead," said Milla.

Silently, Sasha pulled out a chair and sat down, his forehead in his hands.

"Are you all right?" Milla asked gently.

"What do they want," Sasha said out loud, not as a question.

"That's not all," said Milla. "We finally found some old archives of Thorney Towers. As far as we can tell, these are the only records still in existence. Someone was trying to erase it. They're heavily censored- everything is. There's no record of any of the inmates existing until last summer. Except for one." She pushed the box to Sasha. "Sheena Thorney."

Sasha picked up the first packet of paper and began to read.

 

~*~

 

SIXTY-ONE YEARS EARLIER...

 

"Don't do this," said Martha.

Houston Thorney was packing up his office. He was busy picking his most important possessions and storing them in a large box situated on his desk. "This insanity is becoming an epidemic," he said. "I can't stay here."

"But you're the last link this town has to sanity," she pleaded.

"This place is turning into a ghost town," said Houston. He scanned his bookshelf to see which textbooks were worth keeping. "Remember the Martins, who we carpooled to church with every Sunday? They moved out to Arizona. And Pastor Wilson, who led the service? He's in Ward D. He tried to crucify himself. I don't know why, we're not even Catholic! My youngest daughter's math teacher is in a room right across the hall. Her English teacher from last year moved as soon as school was over. The entire theater troupe moved to Oregon, except for the three we committed. The bookstore closed, the butcher shop closed, the contractors left before finishing the department store, its skeleton just sits there- oh, except we had to commit two contractors."

Martha took Houston's hand. "But we need you here."

Houston gently tugged his hand free. "There are more residents in the asylum than in the town. There's nothing more we can do. Out of all the people who have been admitted, how many have left without the aid of an undertaker?" Houston went back to his desk and began packing his drawers. "I hardly have any staff left. They don't even have to go anywhere, just punch out and find themselves in a straitjacket. Just this morning I had to lock up my chief orderly..." Houston paused, his eyes getting a faraway look. "He wasn't entirely himself, but when he was... you should have seen the look of betrayal in his eyes. It was like I'd broken a pact of trust."

Martha caught his eyes and said gently, "What would your wife want?"

"To take our children somewhere safe," said Houston. "God rest her soul, she wouldn't want me to stay in a doomed ghost town. Maureen will be a junior in the fall, she needs an education that isn't getting disrupted by teachers changing and merging with other classes due to diminished size. And Brent needs to have a steady job, one that doesn't disappear once his boss gets committed or moves. Besides, Sheena needs this the most. She's so shy and quiet, she needs to be somewhere that isn't smothering her with screaming lunatics. She's brilliant, but how can she study with all this?

"I'm doing this for Sheena..." He suddenly flopped down in his desk chair. Martha listened patiently. "She wants to be a brilliant psychiatrist, or something, and come back to work here. She really wants to help everybody, but it's tearing her apart. The poor thing is afraid of her own shadow sometimes, and I don't blame her; how many times has it turned out to be a madman grabbing at her rather than just her reflection?"

Just then, someone slammed their entire body into the door, then again. Houston, used to the lunatics, rolled his eyes, nudged Martha aside, and opened the door. Here was his old chief orderly, out of his room but still in a straitjacket. "Um, hello," he said timidly.

Houston frowned. "Who gave you that hat?"

He looked up, as if just realizing what was on his head. "What, this? Um, I don't know, it just-

"It is ze proud uniform of zees army!

"Sorry. Uh, I just wanted to report-"

Houston held up his hand. "I'm gonna stop you right there. You're not an orderly anymore, you're a patient."

"Huh? Oh, I know. I mean, I just thought-

"It eez my misfortune to report to you zat zere is a new patient!"

"Stop the presses," said Houston flatly.

"No, it's just... um... oh, jeeze... I really don't know how to tell you this, but... well... you really ought to know, so... um... uh...

"Oh, just spit eet out already, you fool! Your daughter, Sheena Thorney. She has just been, 'ow you say, committed to ze asylum!

"Hey, I'm trying to be tactful, here!

"You are pathetic.

"Erm... Dr. Thorney? I'm really sorry.

" _Quelle domage._ "  
  
At this point two real orderlies caught up, tackled him, and dragged him away (" _Vive la France_!")

Houston stood in the doorway, staring out at the empty air.

Martha stepped up behind him. "Er, Houston? Are you all right?"

Houston didn't respond. His eyes glazed over, and it looked like he was trapped in a pocket of time that had stopped moving forward.

Then, suddenly, he took off at a run. Martha tried to follow but he was too fast. Still, she knew where he was going, so she asked for directions and got herself to Sheena's room. Or, rather, padded cell. She found Houston sitting on the floor, his arms around his daughter, both of them rocking. Sheena was almost unrecognizable, her eyes sunken, hair pulled out, body hunched over. Over and over Houston whispered, "You were so brilliant... you were going to save us all... how could this happen?" and both of them sobbing. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours.

Then, finally, when Sheena had fallen asleep, Houston eased her off him, got up, and tiptoed out. Martha was waiting for him outside. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Well, I can't leave," he said. "She's here, I can't leave."

"Do you need-" she started, but he brushed her aside and walked off down the hall, leaving her alone.

That night, Houston Thorney threw himself off of the highest tower of the asylum. His body was found early the next morning. Though the asylum would remain open for a short time after that, everyone knew that once Thorney lost his mind, the town was over.

 

~*~

 

Five years later, Shaky Claim was a ghost town. Pellicano stood on a precipice overlooking the empty town below. He couldn't believe it had come to this. How had it come to this? He had his orders; he even agreed with his orders, but he still couldn't believe it was what had to be done.

He could see his scout coming up the hill with the report already. "Good news, Agent Nero?" he asked when the scout came into hearing range.

"The last car just pulled out," he said. "She didn't want to leave. We gave her the check, and she just kept crying, saying she should have let him leave when he wanted. It was awful."

Pellicano frowned. "Everyone in that town had a story... and I guess all of them are tragic."

Nero cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, it's over- they're all gone. The homes are empty and the last bus from the asylum left yesterday. The patients are all in Somewhere Hills."

"Hope they didn't bring the epidemic with them," said Pellicano.

"Maybe the Psychonauts will have better luck than we did."

Pellicano looked across the valley at the dam, then held up his flare gun.

"Are you sure we shouldn't wait?"

"I buried my sister in Shaky Claim," said Pellicano.

"Eesh."

Pellicano fired his flare gun. All was silent for a moment, then slowly the sound of roaring water grew louder and louder until it was nearly deafening. And when it settled, Shaky Claim was gone. Pellicano was standing on the shore of a lake.

"Wow," said Nero.

"And so, the Shaky Claim Dilemma has come to an end."

"It's a very nice lake, at least," Nero offered.

Pellicano nodded. "Lake... Oblongata." He stood there, surveying his work with a feeling of pride.

 

~*~

 

Sasha put the papers down. It was late- only Milla was still awake. She had been watching him read the entire time. "What do you think it means?"

"It could mean any number of things," said Sasha. "Someone was trying to recreate the asylum by rounding up similar mental patients and having them shipped over. Someone could be falsifying these records to cover their tracks." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small package that Ego and Dr. Kai had given him. He'd forgotten about it in the confusion that ensued upon leaving the office, and not remembered it until just now. "Or..."

He remembered Dr. Kai imitating Dr. Loboto's sinister voice, "The Whispering Rock? No, my dear boy, we've found the Philosopher's Stone!"

Sasha pulled the string and the package fell open. Inside was a small packet of dental floss, a new toothbrush,a tiny tube of toothpaste, and a note: _Do not believe his lies. He is the one._ Sasha picked up the note and a small photograph slipped down onto the table top. It was a weathered, black-and-white photo, the head-shot of a middle-aged man.

He held up the picture so Milla could see. "Do you recognize this man?" he asked.

Milla took it and studied it carefully. Finally, she frowned and handed it back. "No," she said, "I don't."

"Then it looks like we have more research to do."

 

~*~

 

Fred wasn't counting days by any external force, so he wasn't sure how long he'd been in here anymore. Actually, he wasn't sure he was still in the same place. The room looked the same, but it didn't at the same time. The cracks on the walls were different. The door was on the short side of the room rather than the long side. There actually _was_ a short side, when he remembered the room being square.

Some moisture collected on in the corner of the room sometimes. It only changed status when he slept, but sometimes he woke up and there was water, and sometimes he woke up and there wasn't. What was going on? The water was barely enough to keep him from going insane, but collecting it drop by drop gave him something to do.

"Is this what a prisoner of war feels like?" he wondered. He tried to say it out loud but his voice refused to cooperate. Then he tried hard not to think of an answer, because he didn't know anything about war, and there was no good reason for him to! This has nothing to do with war!

Fred tried to keep tally marks of how many times he fell asleep and woke up, to sort of keep track of the days, but he never made more than three tally marks before he woke up and they were gone.

 


	11. Paranoia

 

A copy of the timeline from the parking lot of Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp, taken from the Archives of the Psychonauts.

 

__**1505** : Enormous, psitanium-bearing meteorite strikes the Earth, leaving a giant crater  
 **1805** : Native inhabitants begin making arrowheads out of the psitanium, which they call by the name 'Whispering Rock'. This is a rough English translation.  
 **1905** : Prospectors and settlers take over the area, naming their boom town, 'Shaky Claim'.  
 **1906** : First case of 'Paranormal hysteria' diagnosed in Shaky Claim.  
 **1930** : Houston Thorney builds his Home for the Demented to deal with the insanity epidemic  
 **1945** : More residents in Asylum than in the town. Houston Thorney commits suicide by leaping from the tower  
 **1950** : Asylum closes. Last valley residents paid to leave by the federal government, who flood the crater to prevent habitation. Lake Oblongata is created.  
 **2000** : Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp founded to nurture and train future Psychonauts  
 **2004** : Nils gets to first base with Elka Doon  
 **2005** : A plot to rule the world using tanks powered by the brains of psychic children is foiled by Razputin Aquato, who goes on to become the youngest Psychonaut in history.

 

Timeline of the only surviving information on Houston Thorney, cobbled together from old documents:

 

__**1891** : Houston Thorney is born in the area that would soon become Shaky Claim, second of nine children. Seven survive to adulthood.  
 **1910** : Acceptance into Psychic and Psychiatric University, the most prestigious university dedicated to studying psychic minds and the rapidly developing field of psychiatry  
 **1914** : Graduates with a 4.0 GPA and a bachelor's degree in Psychology. Further study is put off by the outbreak of World War I.  
 **1917** : Returns home due to injury sustained in combat  
 **1918** : Marries Margaret Sawyer, his high school sweetheart  
 **1920** : Birth of his first child  
 **1923** : Received his doctorate in Psychiatry. Much of his thesis was on the study of the phenomenon of "Paranormal Hysteria." After graduation, he returns to Shaky Claim  
 **1925** : Birth of his second child, Brent Thorney  
 **1928** : Birth of his third and final child, Maureen Thorney  
 **1930** : With the help of the town, he builds his Home for the Disturbed to deal with the insanity epidemic  
 **1932** : Margaret takes ill and dies in the summer from an undetermined illness  
 **1945** : Houston Thorney commits suicide by leaping from the tower.

 

Information on his lineage through Brent Thorney is as follows:

 

__**1925** : Brent is born to Margaret and Houston Thorney  
 **1943** : Rejected from joining the army to fight in World War II.  
 **1946** : Brent finally leaves Shaky Claim, marries Dorothy Banks, and learns a trade instead of attending a university like his father  
 **1948** : Birth of Brent's first child, a daughter named Virginia.  
 **1949** : Birth of Brent's second child, a son named Clarence Houston.  
 **1978** : Dorothy dies- cause not found, presumed to be natural causes  
 **1999** : Brent dies of natural causes

 

Further research showed that Clarence Houston Thorney was currently living in Maryland, working at the psychic branch of the University of Maryland. There was a picture of him on its website. It looked like it had been taken only a few years ago. When compared with the aged photo that Dr. Kai had given Sasha, there could be no question. _He is the one._

 "We have to send someone to Maryland," Sasha said, standing up and pushing the computer away. His legs were cramping from sitting at the conference table for so long.

 "Should we both go?" asked Milla.

 "No. Someone needs to keep trying until they let us contact Boyd. And keep the psychic protections around Loboto. And get them to release Crispin's body."

 "Why don't I talk to Thorney? If we need to get information, I think I would have an easier time talking to him. And you're much better at getting the government to release information to our department."

 Sasha handed Milla the photo. "If you're sure."

 She took the photo and glanced at it. "What's this written here?"

"The note came with the picture, from Dr. Kai."She read it out loud: "Do not believe his lies. He is the one." Milla looked up. "Isn't that from a movie?"

"I don't watch movies," said Sasha.

Milla tapped her chin with the corner of the photo. "I remember. Memento. It came out five, maybe seven years ago?"

"I saw that movie!" Raz piped up. "It's about a guy who can't make new memories and he's looking for the guy who killed his wife and ruined his brain. The whole thing is told backwards. Nils isn't the only kid who gets to watch R-rated movies."

Milla looked back at the photo. "I wonder if it means anything."

"It could mean he's leading us wrong. The reference could be a clue in itself. Or it could mean Dr. Kai is a film buff who couldn't resist a reference when it was valid. In any case, we certainly can't ignore the fact that we just found a living descendant of Houston Thorney. Whether or not he is the one, and regardless of his honesty, it would be a grievous oversight to continue without making contact with him."

"All right. I'll just pack my overnight bag." She air-kissed Sasha's cheek and left. "I'm taking the jet this time."

Raz flopped back down into his climbed into a seat next to Sasha. "Do you think we're getting close?"

Sasha didn't answer. He rested his forehead on his palm and thought. Eventually, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He picked it up. It was a text message: "Boyd's lockdown's been loosened. If you want to see him now is the time." A Psychonaut at the police station had sent it. 

"Razputin, grab the analysis on Boyd Cooper and meet me at the car."

 

~*~

 

Razputin read aloud the analysis in the car. "Prior to his commitment, Boyd Cooper had difficulty holding a job, though he never believed the problem was with him- Well, yeah, nobody ever thinks the problem is them. Anyway-When he was fired from Hernandos it triggered-"

"Does it say Hernandos?"

"Yeah," said Raz. "This is from my report of his memory vault. I saw the sign and it said Hernandos."

"Are you absolutely sure it was Hernandos?"

"Yeah," said Raz. "What is Hernandos, anyway?"

"It was a department store chain that went out of business in America in the early 70s, though there are still a few operating in Europe and Australia."

"So... Boyd's not American?"

"He _is_ American, and he's in his early forties."

"I don't get it."

"Keep reading."

"When he was fired from Hernandos, it triggered an outward explosion of latent anger. He fashioned a weapon out of what he had at hand, and returned with a case of milk bottle Molotov cocktails to burn the department store down, calling himself 'The Milkman.' Because of this he was committed to a mental institution. This, combined with the repeated firings, sparked the belief that there was a conspiracy against him.

"Morceau Oleander brought him to Thorney Towers after finding out that he could use Boyd as a guard. Using psychic hypnosis he planted an idea inside his mind which manifested as a troop of cookie selling little girls and their den mother, who would awaken the Milkman persona when the time came to destroy the evidence. Until that time arrived, he would use his training at Hernandos to work as a security guard.

"Study into his mind shows that his censors were unable to locate the intruder, the Milkman, that the 'Rainbow Squirts' were hiding. They had to go undercover and attempt to lure it out of the brain. Only the work of a skilled Psychonaut- well, I wasn't a Psychonaut at the time but that's what it says- anyway, only the work of a skilled Psychonaut could lead the mental censors to the hidden mania of the Milkman.

"The mania, after awakening, was too strong for the censors. He proceeded to burn the remains of the asylum and much of the evidence." Raz closed the folder. "Wow. And all this time I just thought he was a nut."

"There is always a method to madness, Razputin."

"I was just kidding," said Raz. Pointing out that Sasha missed his humor was another way Raz had fun with him. "So Oleander thought Boyd had the perfect mind to be his guard... someone who would do exactly what he needed and wouldn't turn on him like in all the movies. But that doesn't explain..." Raz trailed off. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened as a thought hit him like a train. "Oh! Wait! Maybe it does- like, wherever Boyd came from, when he went missing, something happened, and the others knew what was going on, and he couldn't risk anyone taking them seriously or hacking their minds! That would explain why he brought Gloria and Edgar and Fred."

"That's a possibility." Sasha didn't say that it was, so far, the only possibility he could even think of that seemed plausible. But it still wasn't adding up.

 

~*~

 

Boyd was in a padded cell in a straitjacket. He was sitting in a corner, head down, eyes narrow, seething. They weren't listening. Why weren't they listening? Someone had gotten to the doctors at the clinic, clearly, but who? Big oil? The five richest families? Those damn crows again?

"Someone is here to see you." That guard outside his door, he was definitely in on it. He was a suspicious, shadowy character, all right. He was familiar, too. Maybe Boyd had seen him talking to the dog track regulators, carrying their information to the foreign toy makers. Oh, wait, someone was here to see him? Who? Someone in on the conspiracy?

"Boyd." A deep, vaguely familiar voice said. "I'm coming in. Is that all right?"

Boyd pressed his back against the wall and pushed himself into a standing position. "Who are you working for?"

"I'm with the Psychonauts. I am here to help."

"The Psychonauts! They're in on it too!" Boyd was frantic. "Them and that kid with the goggles!"

"No," said a second, younger voice. "No, we're not. We know there's a conspiracy. We're here to take it down and you're the only one who can help!"

"You're just saying that!" Boyd shouted back. "You want to find out what I know so that you can take it back to the manager of that boy band and tell him what I know! Well, you won't get any information out of me!"

"Who's in on it, Boyd?" the kid pressed.

"You should know! You and that guard! You and him and- and the guy from the office! They all teamed up with Hernando and started this whole mess! Now the Psychonauts are here to wipe my brain! Well, I won't let you without a fight!"

"Boyd, why did you burn down your office?"

"You mean, _why did I burn down your headquarters,_ don't you? Ha! I probably set you back pretty far, didn't I? At least I'll have that victory when you try and lobotomize me!"

On the other side of the door, Sasha sighed.

"Okay, I remember him being crazy, but this is just scary," said Raz. "And he was so _normal_ at the office. Remember?" Raz made a pouring gesture with one hand into an invisible cup.

There was a guard standing next to the door to Boyd's cell. He looked a lot like lie unusual coworker from Boyd's office.

"Has he been like this for the past three days?" Sasha asked him.

"I am guarding a patient," said the guard. "He is dangerous, and I am keeping him and others safe."

"Yes, I can see that," said Sasha. "But about Mr. Cooper..."

The guard held up an oversized key ring with a lot of keys jingling on the end. "I have many keys so I can access many parts of the building. I lock up after I am done."

"My question is," said Raz, "how one of these guys got out of Boyd's head and into the real world."

"The person I am guarding is insane."

'Razputin _'_ Sasha said telepathically. 'Go into the room. Shield yourself against Boyd if he becomes aggressive, but you may be able to talk to him in a few minutes. If my theory is correct. Can you do this?'

'Sure _,'_ said Raz.

'Find out as much information as you can. I may need to pull you out of there at any moment.'

When asked, the "guard" unlocked the heavy door and opened it. Raz stepped in, and it closed behind him.

Boyd looked panicked. "Aha! I knew it! The kid with the goggles! You were working with the Milkman!"

"No," said Raz. "I was working with _you_ to bring _down_ the Milkman. Remember?"

"That's just what you wanted me to think! But you took all that information right back to the dairy industry, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"I never did!"

Suddenly the fire alarm went off. Between that and the sound of the automatic sprinklers, the volume was almost deafening. Still, Boyd's crazy managed to make itself heard over the sudden din.

"You're here to take my thoughts! And they took away my protective tin foil headgear! Well I'm not going down without a fight!" And he charged at Raz.

"Olé!" Raz ducked out of the way at the last second, leaving Boyd to slam his head in the one part of the room that wasn't padded: the door handle. Boyd moaned and slid down to the floor. "Your trickery... is... unbeatable."

Raz leaned over and looked. Boyd had a huge gash on his head that was oozing blood. Raz felt around, then took off his pilot's jacket and pressed it against Boyd's head. It wasn't very absorbent, but it was pressure. "Jeez, you've got more charge than El Odio."

Boyd squirmed, then struggled and managed to drag himself into a sitting position. "I... I'm sorry." His voice was completely different, now quiet and tranquil. His eyes were strangely glassy. "I don't know what came over me. You... you're that kid with the goggles, from the asylum. You came to see me last week or something, right?"

Raz nodded. "Yeah. Boyd, this is really important. Why did you try to burn down your office?"

Boyd shook his head. "I just... it seemed like everyone was in on it. Everywhere I went people were talking about me, plotting against me. The office was their headquarters."

"Did you see anything weird happening?"

"No... that really weird guy, though- the one Sasha told me not to talk to- well, he came by my office the day before... he told me _something_ , but I can't remember what. But he was in on it." Boyd's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh. Oh, God. I don't know. I guess I'm still crazy. But something's going on and _he's in on it._ It's not the dairy industry or the big corporations. It's about us."

"Yeah," said Raz. "You're right about that. There _is_ a conspiracy."

Boyd started sobbing. "I don't want to lose my mind again. I'm scared. What's going to happen to us? I just... I'd rather die than go back to what I was. I can't do it... I was happy. Why are they doing this to us?"

Raz squeezed Boyd's shoulder. "We're gonna get them," said Raz. "I promise. For you and everyone else that was at Thorney Towers. Don't give up. You hear me? Don't. Give. Up."

Boyd shuddered. "Okay... okay." He shook his head. "If... I ever do something again... I'm sorry, okay?"

Just then Sasha threw the door open and grabbed Raz's arm. "We have to go. Quickly."

Boyd lunged forward. "Don't leave me here!" he begged.

"Don't worry," said Sasha. "I will be back for you in less than 48 hours." Then he shoved the door shut, grabbed Raz, and teleported out to the parking lot."What did you do?" asked Raz. He now noticed that Sasha was dripping wet.

"I needed to get the guard away from Boyd," said Sasha.

"Did you set the fire alarm off?"

"Yes."

"Did you _set a fire_?"

"What did you learn, Razputin? Was he lucid after the alarm went off?"

"Yeah," said Raz. "He was, and he was terrified that he was going to go crazy again. Are we really coming back for him?"

"Yes," said Sasha. "I'm going to draw up a report to prove that his mental recovery was sabotaged with psitanium and have him released into the custody of the Psychonauts."

"How were they slipping psitanium to him?"

"The guard had it," said Sasha. "He was in league with the man from his office, and they were staying close to Boyd to ensure that he was always near it. When Boyd's mind started to break, all it took was for him to notice that someone was always near him for his paranoia to take over. I have proof of this as well as proof that the Psychonauts are better equipped to take care of him."

Raz pumped his fist. "Hoo-yeah!" He mentally ticked the patients in his head:

Edgar was safe with them  
Boyd was going to be safe with them  
Gloria was in the hospital, but the latest report showed she was conscious and mentally sound

But Fred was missing  
And Sheegor was missing  
Crispin was dead.

And Loboto was... Loboto. Well, if you don't count him either way, then they had saved half of all the ex-inmates. Not a bad day's work for a Psychonaut.

 

 


	12. What Good Will Wishing Do?

Shady Pines seemed quieter, Sasha noticed as he parked his car and stepped out. True, the pine trees and distance that surrounded the institution blocked much of the sound drifting in from the outside world, but now there was a solemn tension in the air that removed all noise from within as well. This time Sasha had come alone. As planned, Nurse Hidaka was on duty and he found her just inside at the nurse's station. She seemed guarded and tense, the opposite of how she had been last time.

"Nein," she said when she saw him. Her voice was professional, but cold.

Sasha cut right to the chase. "It's urgent that you release the body of Crispin Whytehead as well as any information surrounding his death."

"I can't do that." Nurse Hidaka was curt. "Patient confidentiality."

"The patient is dead."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"Nurse Hidaka, there are more lives at stake. At least two are in immediate danger, and we need all the information we can regarding the death of this one. It may be the only way to save them."

"How so?"

"That information is classified to the Psychonauts."

Nurse Hidaka raised an eyebrow.

"If I need to, I'll come back with a warrant."

"You're going to have to," said Nurse Hidaka. "Do Psychonauts even do warrants?"

Just then a heavy door off to the side slammed shut, drawing the attention of both Nurse Hidaka and Sasha. They both saw Dr. Forever standing in the doorway. He nodded in greeting to Sasha, then gestured for Nurse Hidaka to approach, which she did. Sasha couldn't hear a sound from them as they huddled, heads together.

Finally, Dr. Forever sent Nurse Hidaka back to Sasha. "I've just spoken with the doctor in charge of Crispin," she said. "You've met Dr. Forever before."

"Yes, I have."

"Walk with us."

They began walking down the hallways. It was still intensely quiet, far too quiet for a mental hospital. Sure, today's asylums didn't have the screaming in agony or the rattling of chains that kept them restrained, but it wasn't supposed to be deathly quiet. Frankly, it was unnerving.

"We had to lie to you," said Nurse Hidaka, "because we didn't know who we could trust."

"About what?"

"Loboto, for one thing. We had protections around him, but he's gone."

"How-"

"We have no idea." They turned a corner. "Your psychic protections and our security were both breached the same night that someone broke in to kill Crispin Whytehead." Nurse Hidaka looked up at Sasha. "We've only just now decided that whatever is going on, we are in no condition to handle it."

"What are the circumstances of Crispin's death?"

"The night in question, a man in a trench coat broke in through the back way and made his way into Crispin's room. Crispin had already been put to bed, so he seemed an easy target for a quick smothering-strangling. A passing nurse saw him as he made an escape. Our security guard couldn't stop him, though he did fire at him as he disappeared into the surrounding woods."

They stopped, finally, at the end of a hall. This hall was in a staff-only section of the asylum, a row of offices leading up to double doors that read in bold: MORTUARY.

"You have a morgue in a mental hospital?"

"Of course we do," said Nurse Hidaka. "People die here, same as anywhere else."

Dr. Forever unlocked the door, and they all went in. The door locked behind them. Right away Dr. Forever began checking for signs of unauthorized entry.

Nurse Hidaka waited until he gave the all clear, and she continued: "We're releasing Crispin to you. You need to keep him somewhere safe."

"The Psychonauts have their own mortuary for conducting psychic autopsies-"

Nurse Hidaka shook her head. "Not what I meant. If anyone sees him leave this hospital, then everything falls apart. Can your people move him undetected?"

"Let me see him."

Dr. Forever opened one of the drawers as Sasha looked on.

 

~*~

 

The interrogation lights were painfully bright. An agent threw Fred into a cold metal chair and slammed the door shut as he left, leaving Fred alone. He'd banged his shins and knees on the table, but he was too out of it to register any pain. The whole room felt like a metal box illuminated by a bare bulb. Across from him was a two-way mirror. There was a pitcher of water on the table, and an empty glass beside it. Fred didn't touch either.

Eventually, another man entered the room. He had a friendly face, but Fred didn't trust it. Aside from that, Fred could register no details about his appearance. His mind was turning to mush.

Right away the man gestured to the pitcher. "You turn down our hospitality?"

Fred looked at him. "Huh?"

"That's for you, Bonaparte."

"Oh. I thought it was for someone else."

"Well, go ahead."

Fred looked at the man as if he wasn't sure. But he was too parched to be indecisive. He grabbed the pitcher, raised it up to his mouth, paused as if waiting for someone to tell him he was doing something he shouldn't, then he gulped down all the water he could. His stomach swelled as it filled, and right away he felt queasy. When he finished, he slammed the pitcher down and wiped his mouth.

"Are you ready to talk?"

Far beyond wondering what was going on, Fred nodded.

"Wonderful. Tell us about the psitanium."

Fred blinked a few times in surprise. Couldn't they find that out at a library if they needed to know so bad? "Uh... it's, um, an element, I think? It crashed on a meteorite-"

The man cut him off. "Please. Let's not play on pretenses. You know what I want. The psitanium experiments."

Fred shook his head slowly. "No... no, I don't know anything about-"

The man slammed his palms on the table. Fred jumped. "Don't you lie to me, Bonaparte!" he barked. "Little Miss Thorney told us everything. I know you have the records. I know you worked for Houston Thorney."

"Yeah, I was an orderly-"

"Where are the records for the psitanium experiments?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you really willing to die to protect that information?"

"What? No! I don't want to die!"

"All you have to do to stay alive is tell us where the records are. Nobody's going to blame you for acting in self preservation."

"I really don't want to die."

"Who are you protecting? We've got everyone where we want them. We're not afraid to kill again."

"You killed Sheegor?"

"Of course not. We need her. We just killed Crispin."

Fred felt like the half-gallon of water he'd just downed turned into ice. "Wh- why?"

"Because he knew things we didn't want him to know. And the Psychonauts already tried to crack to crack his mind once." The agent smirked. "Don't tell me you're not glad."

Honestly, Fred had thought he would be. But now all Crispin's death meant was that these people weren't afraid to kill, and they knew how to get away with it. Not to mention it meant Crispin was wrong- he _wasn't_ safe playing the catatonic invalid holed up in a mental institution. Which meant no one was safe. Fred knew he wasn't safe, but he felt bad for the others.

"Last chance," said the man. "Want to tell us where the records for the psitanium experiments are?"

Fred hung his head. The man tented his fingers. He waited, but Fred had nothing to give him. Finally, the man sighed and said, "I can see you're not going to help me."

Two other men came in and escorted Fred out. They grabbed his arms and dragged him down the hall, into a different room. He knew it wasn't any of the cells they'd thrown him in before, because this one had a little window. It was narrow and rectangular, close to the ceiling like a basement window. A normal person wouldn't be able to look out it but Fred had no problem. He pressed his nose against the window and looked out. He could see water, spreading out to the horizon. A giant lake? Or was he near the ocean?

The window was glass, and as he slowly pressed his nose to it he realized that half the glass in the window was missing. Dehydration, starvation, and mind-screws don't do any favors for your sense of perception. There was actually a jagged break down the middle, and a chunk of glass on the floor. When Fred bent down to pick it up, his eyes passed a message on the wall, written in blood: _THIS IS WHERE THEY PUT YOU TO DIE._ There was also blood on the piece of glass.

Fred clutched the glass in his hand so tight that it cut into his palms and fingers. He lay down on his side and pulled his knees halfway to his chest. Fred was scared. He hated being scared, and yet he spent more time afraid than anything else.

They were going to kill him. Or if they couldn't get around to it, they'd leave him in here until he died. Maybe they wanted him to use the glass and cut his wrists or throat to speed up the process.

Maybe he would.

"I survived Thorney Towers just to die after a year of freedom," he thought. "I'll never even get to ask out that cute girl at the coffee shop. She probably would have said no, but it would have been nice to ask. Why me? Why me? Why me?"

"Bonaparte."

Fred looked up. He'd heard a voice. It seemed to have come from everywhere and nowhere, from outside the door and from within his own mind.

"You saw out the window, Bonaparte."

Fred looked up at the window and shuddered.

"You're only on the second floor of this building. The window is normally too high for anyone to climb out of, but you're tall enough. Just punch out the glass and wriggle through. Then flip yourself around and climb down to the building's ledge. From there you can fall onto the ground."

"No, I can't," said Fred out loud.

"Yes," said the voice, "you can."

Fred closed his eyes and buried his head in the ground, trying to squeeze his tears back in.

"Listen to me, Bonaparte. You can do this. You _must_ do this. You will survive."

"No, I won't," muttered Fred. "I'm nothing."

"You are not nothing. You are Fred Bonaparte. You're not great because you're the great-some-odd-grandson of Napoleon. You're great because something of something inside yourself. Look. Look at me."

"I can't see you," said Fred.

"You can do this."

"I can't!"

"Don't say that," said the voice gravely. "Because if you can't, _he_ can."

"Who?"

The voice did not respond. Fred felt like he had been dreaming, and a little like he had just woken up. Slowly, he sat up and felt his head, which was strangely clear.

Could he really climb out that window? No, of course not. He'd just fall headfirst onto the pavement below and his head would split open. That was way too scary a way to die. Maybe he could make something up about psitanium, something they wanted to hear. Then they'd let him go. Would they?

'Pathetic,' he thought, 'just pathetic. Do you hate victory so much that you'd rather die than try to escape?'

He tried to push the thought out of his head. 'No! Of course not! I love victory!

'Sure. Just not enough to actually do anything about it.

'What? No, that's not it!

'Isn't it?'

Suddenly, Fred felt a sick feeling down in the pit of his stomach.

 


	13. Brand New Day

Fred paced back and forth in his tiny cell which seemed to be closing in on him by the second. He was panicking, his thoughts rushing past at a mile a minute so he couldn't catch them. His head was buzzing, making it hard for real problem solving to happen.

'Stop panicking!' his brain demanded. The words stayed inside his head instead of coming out of his mouth, but they were so un-Fredlike that he had to squash them anyway.

'"I mean it! Stop stimming and pacing right now!'

Still trembling, Fred obeyed.

'Good. Now. You are going to get out of here and you are going to live, but you have to calm down.'

Fred shook his head. No. Not like this. He couldn't give into the mania. He couldn't go back to the way he'd been.

'Would you rather die?! Is that what you want? To die here? You'd rather die than be crazy, is that what I'm hearing?'

Fred squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears.

'Don't give me that! As long as you're alive you've got hope. If you're dead, there's no hope. Don't you understand that?'

Somehow that registered. Fred stopped trembling, and he slowly lowered his hands. He opened his eyes and looked at the window, a solid determination falling over him.

'Good. Now. Climb out.'

But I can't-

'Yes you can! Believe me!'

Fred reached up and put his hands on the windowpane. He balled up his right fist and punched at the glass that was still there. But at the last second he lost momentum and his hand bounced back off the glass.

'Afraid of a little cut? Fine! Take your shirt off and wrap up your hand like in the movies.'

Now angry, Fred punched the glass again, this time breaking it. Deep cuts all down his forearm started to bleed as he punched out the rest of the glass. Then he put his arms out the window to pull himself free. As soon as he poked his head out the window, though, he pulled it back in. No way could he climb down the wall of a two-story building, not if he was starting headfirst.

But as soon as he thought about it that way, a strange calm came over him. He was in control. His decision would determine what happened next, not theirs. He could choose to wait here until his body couldn't go on anymore, or he could climb out the window and crack his skull on the pavement, or he could let himself bleed out. He hadn't been in control for a long time, not in the asylum, not in his freedom and not in this cell. But damn it, if he was going to die because of this, it would be his way. And the success of his climb was in his control. Whether or not he made it out of the window alive was in his hands and nobody else's.

Fred put his hands back and pulled himself out again, this time without turning back. The glass scraped through the fabric of his white tee, cutting his stomach and staining his shirt red, but he didn't care. He brought his right leg out, squeezing it through the narrow window. He got his foot caught and he had to grab it and bend it as hard as he could to flatten it so he could get it out. Then he brought it down to rest on the narrow ledge of brick that separated the stories of the building. His second leg was harder, but he managed to get that one out too. He almost fell backwards getting it there, but by some miracle he didn't.

Then all he had to do was jump.

Everything happened in a blur. Someone was out on the street shouting, was it the man from before? Or someone else? Fred landed hard on his right ankle, then took off running and limping as best he could. A black car sped down the road and someone Fred knew jumped out. He psychically blasted the sidewalk in front of the man- men, now?- chasing Fred. Then this familiar man grabbed Fred by the collar and threw him in the back seat of the black car.

The car peeled out as it started speeding down the road, the driver talking calmly to Fred. Fred's head was buzzing again. Tiny bits of glass in his skin stung. Blood oozed slowly from his many cuts. Words from the driver made no sense. He was aware that they were questions, easy questions and not interrogations, but he still couldn't answer them.

"Whatever happens now," said his mind, "just know. You got out of there alive." That thought comforted him as he let himself drift off to sleep, uncertain if he was going to wake up.

 

~*~

 

Fred was having ugly dreams. They were all over him, those monsters in the dark. He was suffocating. He couldn't move his arms. They took them away. Someone was screaming at him to fight, don't just sit there and let them kill you! But he was trapped, and now falling, why was he falling?

His body jumped a little and he woke up. Fred wasn't in the domain of nightmares. Actually, the opposite: he was on a cot in a church basement. There was a bathroom nearby, and Fred got up to splash some water on his face. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he realized just how much he had been through. His face was sunken and dead-looking, his shirt blotted with blood. Someone had carefully wrapped his arms in bandages, and bandaged his stomach as well. He also looked and felt extremely grimy, so he took the time to he wash his face, neck, and hands. He looked into the mirror until he was sure it was Fred who was staring back at him.

Fred stepped back into the main basement. He looked around the room, trying to piece everything together and see everything he'd missed last night- well, yesterday- oh, whenever. There was his cot, under a row of narrow windows near the ceiling that were too much like the one he'd escaped through. Nearby was a bookshelf lined with study bibles and devotionals. On the other wall several long tables were folded up, probably there for fellowship events. On the front wall hung an elegant wooden cross, with a banner hanging over it that read, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me (Matthew 25:40, NIV)" There was a chair under the display, with a pile of rags heaped on it. In addition to the bathroom, there was a door to the outside on one wall, a door to the stairs on another, and a door to the kitchen next to that one.

Fred stepped closer to admire the handiwork of the cross. The edges were smooth and tapered, and down the center was carved an intricate design of doves and vines. The edges were smooth and polished, and there was a crown of thorns carved out of the same wood, hanging over the cross section just above the banner. Fred was not a religious man, but there was something moving about this display. It was a work of art.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" the pile of rags said.

Fred jumped out of his skin and yelped.

The pile of rags straightened out, looked up and grinned at him. Fred recognized that pasty, sickly face. "Crispin? But how-?"

"Oh, please," said Crispin with a sneer. "Just because I can't see you doesn't mean I can't smell you."

Fred sniffed himself subconsciously. "No, I mean- how are you alive? You're supposed to be dead."

"Let's just say that the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." He smirked. "I've always wanted to say that."

"So- they didn't kill you?"

"Don't sound too disappointed, General."

"What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, claiming sanctuary."

"I don't understand."

"One too many cannonballs to the head on the battlefield, eh, Bonaparte?" Crispin chuckled to himself. "Your brain's still kiltery-jiltery. Oh well. I'll spell it out for you. I faked my death and I'm sorry to say I did a poor job of it. Won't take too long to unravel that web of lies, since there's not a shred of physical evidence. The G-men wanted me gone, want to make a clean job of it. They tried to smother this poor, feeble-minded invalid with a pillow. I broke the charade, and his wrist, and Nurse Hidaka showed up just in time to bash him over the head. I asked her and that other one to spread the rumor that I died, just as they wanted it done. Won't hold up under any sort of scrutiny, but it gave me a chance to run, so to speak. So I did.

"And here I am."

He finished his story, and Fred didn't speak. He was looking at the cross on the wall. He was wondering if it was a relief that Crispin was alive. It certainly didn't mean that the enemy wasn't dangerous, but it meant they weren't infallible. Of course, Crispin was a bit more cunning than Fred, but if Fred was once again under the protection of the Psychonauts, there was yet a chance that he was safe.

"Penny for your thoughts, General."

Fred ignored him. Still, it was a pity that Crispin wasn't dead. Cruel though it was to think, he would not rest easy knowing Crispin was still around.

"Lovely woodwork, eh?" Crispin said. He was still staring straight ahead with his creepy blind eyes. Fred assumed that he had "seen" it by running his hands over it. Or maybe he'd been here once before and seen it for real, because it had a thin and undisturbed layer of dust over it.

Crispin continued, "They say it was carved out of a tree planted in Whispering Rock by a monk who was following God's blueprint... although he probably just thought he heard the whispering of the rock, if you know what I mean. Although who knows? Maybe the Lord did send him craft patterns telepathically."

"Is that true?"

"No," said Crispin, "I'm just making that up off the top of my head. In any case, why don't you make yourself useful and run a cloth over it, get some of that dust off it? It looks dreadful."

"Huh? Oh, sure." Fred went and got a dish cloth from the kitchen, then brought it back and started wiping the polished wood. "You don't know it looks dreadful, you know," he informed Crispin. "You're blind."

"My eyes don't work," said Crispin, "but that doesn't mean I can't see."

Fred stopped dusting. He slowly turned his head to look at Crispin, who was still sitting in his chair, right beside Fred, still staring straight ahead.

"Goodness, have I got dirt on my face?" Crispin said lightly. "Hand me that clean dishrag, would you?"

Fred held out the dish cloth, staring at Crispin with his mouth slightly open. "Thanks, mate," said Crispin. He reached out and felt around until his hand made contact with the dish cloth. "Do me a favor, would you? Kneel down and look at me head on. Yes, like that, thank you." Crispin raised the cloth and wiped the streak of dirt off his face. "Much better. Thank you."

Something clicked in Fred's mind. "You... you're using clairvoyance on me. Aren't you?"

"You are a smart one, aren't you?"

"I didn't know you were psychic."

"Well, I wasn't when we met."

"So when did that happen?"

"It's not something that just happened all at once. It was the psitanium, you know. I don't know when it happened, but I was never inclined to try until I realized my own eyes were no longer working, and I just tried my minds eye. Incidentally, did you know that one Mr. Boyd Cooper is pyrokinetic now? I don't think he does. Someone ought to tell him before he burns the office down by accident. Oh, or has he done it on purpose already?" Crispin paused. "The rest of them are unchanged. At least I think so. Doctor Loboto may know how to make confusion grenades, but I think he just naturally has that effect on people."

"What about me?"

"Unlikely," said Crispin. Then he tilted his chin up. "Why don't you try?"

Fred looked around the room. He settled his eyes on a small mug on the ledge of one of the high windows. He focused his whole mind on it, wrapping around it, willing it...

But there was no effect.

"Guess not," said Fred.

"Don't feel too bad," said Crispin. "You can always go back to Whispering Rock and hang around the psitanium a bit more. See if you can't develop some psychic powers of your own." He caught the reflection of Fred's face in his own eyes. "Close your mouth, Bonaparte, you're starting to catch flies."

Fred quickly shut his mouth and looked away from Crispin. He wasn't used to the idea of Crispin being able to see.

"Could you do me one more favor?"

"It depends," said Fred, still looking away.

"Could you look out one of those windows for me?"

"Uh, okay..." Fred was suspicious, but he did as he was asked. There were a few narrow windows near the ceiling that he could easily see out the window without even having to stand on his toes. Around his chin level, the ground outside began. There was a tree trunk not too far away. He could see the crevices of the bark. There were ants crawling up and down the near side of the tree, hinting at its poor health. The sky was mostly clear, with only a few wisps of cloud.

"What am I looking for?" asked Fred.

"Nothing," said Crispin. "I just missed being able to look out the window."

Fred turned around. Crispin had stood up and was walking unsteadily over to Fred. His arms were out, searching for obstacles. He was only a few steps away from his chair and he was already lost. Fred had stepped too far away, and without a trinket of his to hold onto, Crispin could no longer see through Fred's eyes.

For the second time in his life, Fred felt pity for Crispin. Without even making the conscious decision, he reached one of his stubby arms out in front of Crispin's face. Crispin's hand brushed Fred's, felt around to see what it was, then he closed his hand around Fred's wrist. Fred guided him over to the wall. "Back in range?" asked Fred.

"Yes, thank you."

And, unlike the last time, Fred's pity didn't bite him in the butt.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene with Fred and Crispin in the basement was the other scene I mentioned earlier, written immediately before the scene at Boyd's office.


	14. Aged Up

Sasha came back several hours later. In the meantime, Fred and Crispin hadn't spoken to each other since the window. Crispin went back to his seat and back to his own little world, whatever that consisted of. Fred lay back down on the cot and tried to remember if anything had happened between the time of his escape and his waking up in the church. He had a vague recollection now of being patched up by someone he didn't know, and of throwing up the water he drank all over Sasha's front.

When Sasha returned he had a few bags from a deli up the street. He'd gotten a container of soup for Fred, which Fred was thankful for. It would be so easy on his stomach, having not eaten in however long. He tried not to eat fast, but it was hard. It tasted so good, and as soon as it hit his tongue he realized just how famished he'd been.

"Easy now," said Sasha. "You're going to make yourself sick again."

Fred's face flushed as he remembered throwing up on Sasha. "Sorry," he said.

Sasha waved his hand dismissively. Then he pulled out his cigarette pack and a cigarette from it, pyrokinetically lit it, and started smoking right there in the church basement.

Crispin wrinkled his nose. "Really now, can't you take that outside?"

"I'm keeping a close watch on you," replied Sasha. He took a long drag on his cigarette, then blew the smoke to the other side of the room. As he tapped the ashes out in an ashtray he'd brought with him, he asked idly, "How old are you?"

"Thirty... uh... thirty two," replied Fred lamely. "Or thirty-four."

"The doctor thinks so, too." He gestured to Fred's stomach. "You needed stitches."

"Ninety-two," said Crispin.

Fred gave him a weird look. "Ninety-two?"

"By my reckoning."

"What year do you think it is?" asked Sasha.

"Nineteen- nineteen, uh... 2006," said Fred.

"Go ahead, General, what were you going to say?" asked Crispin. "Nineteen forty-five, perhaps?"

Fred shook his head. "No, of course not. That's crazy."

"You were born in the 1970s, then?"

"Y- uh, yeah."

Sasha took another puff. "I still need to go to Thorney Towers."

"Oh. Um, can I come?"

Sasha shook his head. "I wouldn't recommend it."

"Oh." He looked down.

Crispin nudged him and gave him a pointed look. Fred blurted out, "I know it's risky, but I need to come. It's... it's just something I gotta do, okay?"

Sasha seemed mildly surprised, which Fred by now realized meant that he was actually very surprised if he was showing it externally. "I cannot protect you from the effects of the psitanium. Because of your previous exposure, it might not take very long at all for you to feel its effects again."

"I don't care," said Fred. "I need to. I really do."

"I also think I should go," said Crispin.

Sasha didn't answer. Fred sort of hunched down and sat on the ground, finishing his soup. Sasha stood up and moved to the back of the room, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Smooth," said Crispin when Sasha was out of earshot. "Why do you want to go to Thorney Towers, anyway?"

Fred shrugged. "I don't know. Why do you want to go?"

"Moral support," said Crispin.

"Yeah, right." Fred scoffed.

"I'm serious."

Fred gave Crispin a sideways look. He remembered talking to Crispin back at Shady Pines, and earlier that day, and a strange thought crossed his mind. "Uh, Crispin...?"

"Yes, Bonaparte?"

"Why are you being...?" Nice wasn't exactly the word, but Fred couldn't really think of one that fit his behavior. "Friendly," he decided on.

"You could use one right about now," said Crispin.

Fred frowned. "That doesn't really answer my question."

"You know, I never hated you. I just hated how pathetic you were."

"That's, uh, kind of rude."

"It's very rude, Bonaparte, why don't you bother standing up for yourself once in a while?"

"I do," said Fred.

"So do it. Call me out like you did back at the asylum."

"After, uh, our altercation-"

"You mean after you beat the stuffing out of me?"

"Uh, yeah, that. I'm actually sorry about-"

"Don't be. We're even."

"Oh." Fred tilted his head. "You seem... different."

"So do you."

"I guess it's just good to be out of that asylum and away from all that craziness."

While Fred and Crispin were talking, Sasha's phone rang. He answered it. "Agent Nein speaking."

"Sasha? It's Milla, darling."

"Hello, Milla. Have you spoken to Clarence Thorney?"

"Actually, I'm calling about that. I arrived here and went straight to his office on campus..."

"Yes?"

"And he ran away."

Sasha paused a moment. "What?"

"He ran away. The office receptionist called him and told him who it was, and he said he would meet me in a moment. Ten minutes must have passed without him coming out, and when we went to the office to see what was keeping him, his window was open and he was nowhere to be found."

"He does know something."

"I think that cryptic polaroid might have been right. You know, I've never been lied to by a picture before."

"I'll meet you at the office," said Sasha. "We're going to the asylum as soon as you get back."

"Did you manage to get Boyd somewhere safe?"

"Yes. He's in lockdown at the office. Raz is keeping an eye on him. Boyd trusts Raz the most, now that he's away from the psitanium."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Love you, darling."

"Goodbye." He hung up the phone and turned to Fred and Crispin, who had just finished up their own conversation. "Do you feel well enough to move? We're going back to the office."

"Yeah," said Fred. "Actually, why aren't we there in the first place? I thought it was kinda strange we're in a church basement..."

"This church is just down the road from Shady Pines. I couldn't risk moving Crispin through a more populated area without more preparations, and the priest was more than willing to accommodate the psychonauts. I brought you here simply because it was the closest place we had already established a base of operations, and I wanted someone to tend to you as soon as possible."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

"Crispin, I'm going to lead you out to the car. Please take my arm."

"No need, Nein," said Crispin. "Just let me follow on your heels and I'll be fine."

"It would be better if you didn't rely on your newly discovered psychic powers in such an urgent and uncertain situation. Please take my arm."

Crispin sneered, but he did as he was told. Fred could tell, knowing Crispin as long as he had, that Crispin was at least a little grateful that Sasha wasn't forcibly guiding him but rather giving him agency in the decision, which made him slightly more willing to do as he was told. Had Sasha physically laid hands on him, Crispin would have been much more resentful and, as a result, difficult.

Fred followed behind them, banging his head on the low church doorway on their way out.

 

~*~

 

It was almost nine o'clock at Dr. Jonathan Kai's dental office. His little assistant was straightening the waiting room and putting the computer into idle mode for the night while he put away the last of his dental tools. He stayed open late many nights to accommodate certain patients who couldn't make it during regular office hours, and it was one of the jobs little pleasures for him.

Ego poked her head into the exam room. "Everything's put to bed, sir."

"Good. Now, you ought to get home. Your mom wants you home for bed, too."

"But it's not a school night," she protested.

Dr. Kai rubbed her hair. "I know, kiddo, but your mom makes the rules for you. I can't override them." He cupped her cheeks in his hands and smooshed her face against his at the forehead and nose. "Mwah!" Then he let her go. "Love you."

"Love you more," she said.

"Not possible."

She picked up her backpack and started to go. Then she turned around, gave him one last hug, then left, locking the door behind her.

It was quiet. Dr. Kai sighed and flopped down on the waiting room couch. Since he and his wife split up, he'd been living here. Until he got a real place of his own, he couldn't get partial custody of his daughters, and Ego was the only one who was really keeping him company.

He was just about to doze off when he remembered to get up and hang his lab coat so it wouldn't get wrinkled. Because he was so sleepy, he thought it was a dream when he opened the closet door and saw two glowing lights floating in the darkness. He blinked. Red and green? Did he have Christmas decorations here?

A metal claw lunged out from the darkness, a body behind it, and pinned him against the nearest wall by the throat.

"Remember me?" Dr. Loboto cackled.

"Vaguely," said Dr. Kai. "Shouldn't you be in an asylum somewhere? Locked up away from the rest of us normal people?" He struggled against the mad doctor's grip.

"Oh, come now, you never were a 'normal people,'" Loboto said with great amusement. He had Dr. Kai completely at his mercy, struggling or not. "You were always like me. A dreamer with a vision too big for man to understand."

"Hey, my dreams don't involve mass suffering and military takeovers. I mean, not the goal dreams. The REM sleep dreams, well, from time to time. I don't really have control over that. But that's neither here nor there! Why did you come back? I don't like you!"

"Where are the discs?"

"What?"

"The discs, man, the discs! The ones you stole from me before I had to go back!"

"... This is the first I'm hearing of you having discs."

"You have them!" Loboto shrieked. "I told you every detail of our plans and now you have the information on the discs in your moist little brain!"

"Hey. I tuned you out, like, 80% of the time. And I forgot the rest."

"Don't play coy with me. You loved everything I said. Soaked it up like an old rag in a bottle of chloroform."

"... Why is that the first place your mind goes?"

"You can't turn your back on us and expect to live."

"Wait!" Dr. Kai shouted, even though Loboto wasn't doing anything at that moment. "There's no us. It's just you being crazy!"

"Not at all!" Loboto cackled. "Don't you know who I'm working for? Of course you do. You've met him!"

"... Satan?" Dr. Kai guessed.

"No, of course not- wait, you've met Satan?"

"One time, at the park in spring," Dr. Kai admitted. "Cordial enough fellow, if you can get past the evil."

Loboto gave Dr. Kai's throat a squeeze. "The disks, now. All of the information."

Dr. Kai wheezed a bit, and Loboto loosed his grip slightly. "The computer... the computer's over there," he said, gesturing with his whole arm.

Loboto dropped Dr. Kai, who fell immediately to his knees clutching his throat, and went over to the computer. He pressed a few buttons to get it up and running, and started pawing through the surrounding drawers while he was waiting.

As soon as Loboto was sufficiently distracted, Dr. Kai got up and crept slowly to the door without being spotted. He let himself out as silently as possible, and as soon as he got out of the building he grabbed the payphone that lingered unused outside the building and dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I've got an escaped mental patient in my dentist office," said Dr. Kai. "514 Industrial Park West, Suite 26. I'm pretty sure the Psychonauts are looking for him."

"I'm dispatching a unit right away. Can you stay on the phone and tell me when you see them?"

"Sure can," said Dr. Kai.

The police arrived shortly, but when they got to Dr. Kai's office, Loboto was gone. He had smashed the computer irreparably, but nothing was missing. The police notified the Psychonauts immediately.

 

 


	15. The Great Return

“Absolutely not,” was all Sasha had to say on the subject.

Fred, Crispin, Boyd, Edgar, and, surprisingly, Gloria, were all at the Psychonauts Headquarters. The second Gloria was well enough to be released, Sasha demanded they send her over. Milla still wasn’t back, which worried Sasha greatly. Now all of the ex-patients were united in their request: “We want to go back to Thorney Towers.”

“It’s far too dangerous,” Sasha continued. “The psitanium is still there, and it’s still active. Just because your minds have been straightened out doesn’t mean it won’t affect you. You should know that well enough, Boyd, Gloria.”

“I do,” said Gloria, “but I also know that whatever is happening, the answer is going to be there, and I for one want to be there when it’s discovered.”

“You don’t know that,” said Sasha. “You can’t.”

“I know it, too,” said Boyd. “It’s just kind of... a gut feeling, you know?”

“Boyd, the amount of psitanium at Thorney Towers is exponentially larger than the amount you were recently exposed to. We’ve straightened out your mind again, but it won’t last.”

“Okay. So... let’s say I snap again. I can be restrained. I can be sedated. Then, when we get back, you can patch up my mind again.”

“Not necessarily.”

Raz had told Sasha how desperate Boyd was to not lose his mind again, how the thought of slipping back into insanity had pained him. So it was all the more impactful when Boyd held himself up proudly and said in a calm, even voice, “I’ll take that risk."

Fred had never heard him sound more serious, and it impressed him.

“You’re safer here,” said Sasha. “We can protect you here.”

“You can’t protect us anywhere, and you know it,” said Crispin.

Fred smiled a tiny bit. If anyone Fred knew could break down Sasha’s defenses, it was Crispin. He kept quiet and hoped the others realized what he did.

“We have the highest psychic guards in place here. No one is getting in or out without us intercepting them.”

“Like the ones you had around Shady Pines?”

“Those were not adequate. We did not anticipate the high level of danger you were in.”

“And Loboto got out. And he got away, and he attacked someone last night- yes, I heard you on the phone last night. And he got away again, or so I understand it. Not to mention he still had my mind guarded from you a full year after putting the block in place. You didn’t know that, and you still don’t know how he did it. So just admit that we’re dealing with something that’s beyond you and stop pretending you have any sort of control over the situation.”

“You’re vastly underestimating our abilities,” said Sasha. “Just because we underestimated the danger and put inadequate defenses in place doesn’t mean we will be so easily overthrown again.”

“I’ll bet that’s exactly what you thought last time,” said Crispin. “Don’t forget that, if I wasn’t able to defend myself, I would be dead right now. Your protections didn’t save me. My own did. The poor little blind man.”

“This is not up for discussion,” said Sasha. “You are not coming. End of story.”

Just then the door to the office opened and Milla waltzed in. “I’m back, everyone! Goodness, what a trip.”

“You’re back,” said Sasha. “I thought you would have arrived much sooner.”

“You were worried about me, darling?” She laughed. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get my message.”

Sasha opened his phone and checked his voicemail. Incredibly, there was one unheard message, from Milla, explaining that the jet had broken down and was being repaired, and Milla’s return would be delayed until then. “How did I miss that?” he wondered out loud.

“You're under a lot of stress,” said Milla.

“I never miss anything.”

“There’s a first time for everything.’

“You see?” said Crispin. “If you can overlook a simple voicemail, surely you can overlook a break in security.”

“You are not coming,” said Sasha firmly.

“They want to come to Thorney Towers?” asked Milla, surprised.

“Yes,” replied Sasha. “I said absolutely not.”

“If they want to come, and they know the dangers and agree to it, I say they have every right to,” said Milla.

Now Fred grinned right out. He didn’t know Sasha and Milla very well, but he had seen them interact enough to realize at that moment that Crispin was only the second-most likely person to convince Sasha of something; Milla was hands-down the first, and she was clearly on their side.

Sure enough, Sasha put up a token struggle, but Milla rolled over him easily. “We can protect them better if we can see them, you know. And it is their right, after all. They’re in this as much as we are.”

Sasha didn’t say anything. He simply looked at the others, nodded once, and then turned and walked away.

“Yes! We did it!” Edger grabbed the others in an enormous group bear hug that lifted them several inches off the ground. Fred bent over backwards like a piece of straw, as Edgar grabbed him much lower than the others. “Oops. Sorry, Mr. Orderly.” Edgar released them.

“No problem,” said Fred, straightening up. “And remember, it’s Fred now.”

“Of course. Force of habit, you see.”

Fred then turned to Crispin, who had miraculously sidestepped the entire hug ordeal. “Uh, thanks, Crispin.”

“It wasn’t me,” said Crispin.

“I want you in the jet,” said Sasha, turning back to the asylum crowd. “As soon as we are all on board and ready to go, we’ll be leaving.”

Fred felt his stomach sink. This was what he wanted... right? So why did he suddenly feel like he would rather be doing literally anything else in the world?

He obviously looked distressed, because Gloria wrapped one of her arms around his. “Don’t worry, dear, everything will be fine. We’ve been through worse already. This will be walk in the garden.”

Fred nodded. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

 

~*~

 

The jet was crowded: of the Psychonauts, Sasha, Milla, Oleander, Ford, and Raz were on board. Adding to that Boyd, Gloria, Fred, Crispin, and Edgar, and of course taking into account things like Edgar’s girth and Fred’s legs... Even though the passenger room of the jet was large it still felt like there were too many people. Or that might have just been Fred warding off a panic attack, trying to put his head between his knees in his seat. He felt as if all the air was being breathed up by everyone else, leaving him to suffocate.

Crispin was sitting next to him, glaring with his sightless eyes. “For goodness sake, we’re not even there yet. You can’t already be losing your mind.”

“I’m not,” said Fred in a tight voice. “There’s just very little air here.”

“More than enough for me,” said Crispin. “Must be the high altitude.”

“If it was the altitude, wouldn’t that affect you, too?”

Crispin scowled. “It was supposed to be a dig at your height. I forgot we were on a jet.”

“Oh. Well, better luck next time.”

“Hm.”

In the cockpit, Milla was flying the jet while Sasha was briefing Raz. “All right,” he said. “This is what we picked you up for. We’ll be arriving shortly at Thorney Towers. You remember what state it was in when we last left?”

“It exploded,” said Raz.

“I don’t know what else is there. I don’t know if we’ll be alone. What I do know is that you must stay close to me, Oleander, or Milla at all times. I know how eager you are, and I know I give you these restrictions often and it’s in your nature to break them. Sometimes I even want and expect you to test your limits. So you’ll understand how important it is when I say please, this time, do not leave our sight. Do you understand?”

Raz nodded once, eyes serious. “Yes. I understand.”

Sasha pulled a cigarette out of his pocket with his mind. “Good.”

Near the back of the jet sat Ford. He was holding his push-broom while trying to figure out how the blazes he was supposed to flip burgers with it, and whether or not those kids would come out into this off-limits area to get them. Wait. That was wrong. Or was it? They were going somewhere. Somewhere he desperately wanted to go. But understanding where, and why, was beyond his reach. For a brief moment he thought he understood as he looked out the window and saw a vast expanse of water, but it was gone as soon as it had come.

 


	16. The Abandoned Asylum

“We’re here.”

Fred sat up. The jet was doing a water landing. Fred looked out the window next to his seat and let out a little gasp. He could see the island from here, yet he still couldn’t believe it was an island. The tower was gone, turned into the rubble scattered all over the exposed ground. “How could I have lived here?” Fred whispered, so low nobody could hear him.

“Oh, dear,” said Gloria, looking out her own window. “My beautiful flowers...”

“You can always plant some more,” offered Boyd.

“I suppose.” Gloria sighed wistfully.

The jet landed near the small shore where Raz first touched down on the asylum grounds. Sasha opened the side door, which converted into a walkway that reached the collapsed gate. As the jet was so large, the path was flat.

One by one, the group stepped onto the island, first the psychonauts and then the former residents. Sasha reached the ground first, and watched the rest carefully step off. Fred was second to last, bumping his head on the doorway, followed by Crispin, smirking about it.

“Hey, look,” said Boyd cheerfully, pointing at the rubble. “My old chalk marks are still here.” He knelt down and squinted to get a better look at them. He pointed at one stray brick and said, “This one is from when I thought the crows were in on it!” He laughed. “Ah, memories.”

“I wonder if any of my paintings survived,” Edgar mused.

Sasha then spoke in a loud, commanding voice: “I want all of you ex-patients to stay right here for the time being. Milla, Razputin, Oleander, and I are going to secure the island.” Sasha reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a flare gun. He handed it to Edgar. “As I understand it, you were the least unhinged after prolonged exposure. I want you to fire this if anybody loses control and poses a threat, or if anybody who wasn't just on the jet appears for any reason.”

Edgar took the flare gun. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll see to it that there are no problems.”

Sasha turned to Ford. “Ford--”

“I’m coming with you to secure the island,” said Ford.

Sasha’s eyebrows went up. “Then, you’re yourself again?”

“For now,” said Ford. “But no knowing how long that’ll last.”

“Interesting.”

With that, the psychonauts left.

Boyd sat down on a particularly large rock. “How much you wanna bet he isn’t actually going to let us leave this patch of grass?”

“Give it time,” said Gloria. “We’ll see.”

After that, there wasn’t much to say. The air hung thick and quiet between them, but no one had anything to break the silence with. Fred sat down on a part of what used to be the wall keeping the patients in, tucked his legs close to him, and looked out over the island. He could no longer recognize any part of it. The offices where he’d talked with doctors, the wards where he’d assisted with patients, the game room where he’d lost his mind, the padded rooms where he’d eventually been kept... all of it had melted together in the rubble.

Fred stood up suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” asked Crispin.

“I need to stretch my legs,” said Fred.

“Big surprise.”

“I’m just going over there where the front door used to be and back again.”

Nobody objected, so Fred walked across the former courtyard, past the broken remains of the brain tank, until he reached the front steps which had somehow kept part of their form.

“You’ve gone this far,” said a voice behind Fred that made him jump.

Fred spun around and saw Crispin right on his heels. “Don’t do that!”

“You need to learn how to relax more,” said Crispin. “After all, you’re about to disobey the Psychonauts and explore the island yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’m not sneaking off just so you can peek at the mess with my eyes,” said Fred.

“Are you daft? I’m not following you out there. I barely made it here in one piece, I can’t see my feet and this entire island is a tripping hazard. I’m going back the way I came. I just assumed you were about to go further, and I didn’t want you to chicken out.”

“Well, I’m not,” said Fred. “I’m heading back.”

“So go ahead. And look down, please, I’d rather not crack my skull open on the way back.”

Fred looked over to where he’d left the others, but he didn’t take a step.

“Ah. So you were going to explore.”

“No!” Fred paused. “I mean, I wasn’t...”

“So it’s my fault for putting the idea in your head.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“If you want to go, go,” said Crispin. “Or stay. I’m going back now.” Arms out, Crispin began carefully picking his way back through the rubble.

Fred almost followed him. He started to, but something inside him wouldn’t let him. The asylum was calling to him. He wanted to know what had happened. He needed to know why this had happened. A tiny voice in his chest was urging him forward, the determined, Napoleon part of him that had pushed him ever forward back them. The last time it had been wild and untamed, pushing him towards madness. This time it was focused, and pushing him towards understanding.

Fred turned away and headed further into the wreckage.

There was almost a path between two crumbling walls. It was a hallway that had avoided the tower’s collapse and was only derelict from the passage of time rather than the trauma of that chilling night one year ago. There were torn pieces of mattress littering the hallway, twisted, rusted metal that were once the gurneys they rode upon. Fred had to step over a half-rotted door lying across the path, and he could see the stones that once made up the base of the door frame, but when he looked further than his feet, he couldn’t make out any semblance of order in the jungle of the wreckage.

Above him, he could see the night sky, dotted with thousands of stars stretching into infinity, horizon to horizon. It was beautiful; he hadn’t seen stars like this in a very long time. Certainly not when he was close to civilization, because the lights of even just the suburbs were enough to dampen the celestial body's glow. And he didn’t spend much time looking up at the stars when he was here before, however long that was.

Sometimes looking up at the infinite abyss has a way of making one feel cosmically insignificant, the crushing realization that our lives are nothing but a flicker of dust in the timeline of the universe. But right now, when Fred looked glanced up at the stars from amid the rubble in his former prison, he felt motivated. The universe incomprehensibly large, and without order. But he was a part of it, just as much a part of it as any star, and he had made it this far existing in a cold, unforgiving universe that didn’t even notice him. And damn it, he was going to keep existing. Just like the stars.

At that moment, Fred began hearing noises. He ducked down as low as he could, not wanting the Psychonauts to know he’d disobeyed them. But it wasn’t them. It sounded like... shuffling? Someone was moving something?

Fred followed the sound, staying as low as he could. He could hear light banging, rocks against rocks, rock against metal, and paper. Paper? Any paper would have rotted away, wouldn’t it? Strange.

Further in the wreckage, Fred saw an office that was only 9/10th destroyed. The door frame was, incredibly, still standing, as were the corners. They were now far from the direct blast range, and the tower had fallen on the other side of the island. Everything in the office had fallen apart and it was little more than rubble, but there was a metal desk that had been warped nearly beyond recognition in the center of the former room.

A man was kneeling by the desk, trying to wrench its drawers open. He had succeeded twice, but apparently not found what he wanted. He looked odd to Fred, short and portly, dressed in a black suit colored gray with the dust of time. He looked to be in his fifties, not too old but certainly no longer young.

The man leaned back against a boulder and put one hand over his face in frustration. He stayed like this a moment before removing it and going back to his search. As he did, he caught sight of Fred, who was now standing in the doorway.

They both locked eyes. Neither moved.

Finally, the man whispered, “Did you bring the Psychonauts with you?”

Fred shook his head.

The man was visibly relieved. “Oh, thank God,” he sighed, leaning back again.

“Sorry, that’s not right,” said Fred. “I mean, I didn’t bring them. They brought me.”

The man stared at Fred, trying to work out if he was serious. When Fred didn’t respond, the man slumped down entirely. “Wonderful.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

Fred knelt down beside the desk. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for my father’s records.”

“Your father?”

“Ah. I haven’t introduced myself.” The man held out a hand. “My name is Clarence Thorney.”

Fred shook his hand. “Fred Bonaparte.”

“You used to live here.”

“Uh, I guess.”

Clarence shook his head. “I’m sorry about that. I had nothing to do with that.”

“Your grandfather was Houston Thorney.”

“Yes. My father was Brent Thorney.”

“I used to work with your grandfather.”

“Yes. You did. I have the records. Had.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

Clarence sighed. “I just... I can’t...” He reached into the desk and pulled out an old, yellowed folder. “Ah. This is something, at least.” He began leafing through.

“What’s that?”

Brent handed the folder to Fred. “Here. Read this. I think it might start to make sense.”

Fred opened the folder and began to read.

 


	17. What We Left Behind

It was a completely ordinary day for Brent Thorney. He'd had a meeting with one of his boss' clients that morning and it had gone well. Now he was preparing for the second meeting with a different client that would take place after lunch, and that one was also expected to go well. Life had been good ever since he left Shaky Claim and even though he missed his father, his mother, and his big sister terribly, he understood that the best way to honor their sacrifice was to live the best life that he could. Now he was happy. His job was secure and he enjoyed his work very much, he was single but not without prospects, and he had a good home that he could work on over the weekends. All in all, he was content.

That ordinary day, Pellicano came to ruin everything. He entered Brent's office unannounced, flashing his badge as he stepped through the door. “You remember me, right?” Pellicano said.

Brent, who was working at his desk, looked up. "How did you get past Minnie?"

"I flashed my badge. People will let you pretty much anywhere with one of these. You ought to get yourself one. I came here because I need to speak with you."

“Can this wait? I’m in the middle of something.”

“You’re going to want to hear this.”

Brent grunted, and then pushed his chair back. “What?”

“Do you still have your father’s documents from Thorney Towers?”

“If you’re looking for patient records, I handed them all over to the institutions that held Thorney Towers’ overflow. I don’t just have people’s private medical information lying around.”

“You gave away all the records?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting. I’m thinking maybe you didn’t.”

Brent twisted his neck in his frustration and glared at Pellicano. “Are you accusing me--”

“Relax. You’re not in trouble. I don’t care about that. But as Houston Thorney’s heir and only surviving child, I thought you might know what happened during the evacuation.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Would you like to?”

“Since you came all this way, you might as well tell me.”

“There are thirty patients from Thorney Towers that are unaccounted for.”

This took a moment to sink in. “Thirty.”

“Yes.”

“Thirty patients.”

“We’ve been tracking down everyone who came from Shaky Claim to find any correlation between the expats and diagnoses of paranormal hysteria in the areas where they settled down. We had no problem finding the non-insane ones, but we’ve been having trouble with some of the patients.”

“You’re serious. Thirty people just went missing.”

“You didn’t know anything about that?”

“I had nothing to do with that. My father’s estate was responsible for the asylum after his death. I left Shaky Claim in ‘46. The asylum didn’t close until 1950.” Brent’s face scrunched up oddly. “Five years. Good God, man. Left on an island for five years? They’re long dead.”

“I was responsible for evacuating the town,” said Pellicano. “I regret that I didn’t search the asylum as carefully as I might have. I simply didn’t think that-- no, that’s not it. I couldn’t stand to go there. Too many ghosts.”

“Your sister died in our asylum,” said Brent. “I know; she had your same last name. I remember her.”

Pellicano’s face darkened as he looked down.

“Are you going to go there?”

“I have to. I just don’t know what I’m going to find.”

Brent chewed on his lower lip for a moment as he thought. “Take me with you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed.”

“You may have left thirty people to die of neglect and exposure, I hardly think an unauthorized passenger is going to make it any worse.”

“Rather, I’m afraid of the paranormal hysteria it causes.”

“Oh. That.” Brent waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve never felt the effects, and I grew up in the asylum. Don’t worry about me.”

“Well, then... if you’re sure.”

“I want to see it. See... what my father’s legacy will be.”

“I understand.”

 

~*~

 

What would you have expected, going to this island? Dead bodies long since rotted, their bones picked clean by the crows? Of course, that’s what anyone would expect after leaving a large group of people alone for half a decade with almost no supplies save for what was left behind when the asylum was evacuated.

What they found were people.

As soon as Brent set foot on the shore of the island, he knew they were not alone. However, he couldn’t quite place it as he and Pellicano walked through the overgrown grounds. The asylum was not nearly as dilapidated as it would soon become, but it was already starting to fall apart.

The large front door opened easily. The halls echoed with footsteps, though the two men had not entered yet. Pellicano drew his firearm and led Brent down the hall, gesturing for him to be silent. Brent needed no reminder.

In the day room were two men: one tall and gangly, one short and pasty.

“Attack!

“No! Don’t listen to him! Retreat!

“Shut up, you fool! Ze battle is ours! Wellington is on ze run! Zis is our moment of glory!”

However, it was only one man talking for two sides. Fifty-one years ago, Fred was still pacing around, locked in the battle in his mind, while Crispin stood on, goading him and teasing. At this point, however, he had not yet become the orderly.

“Fred?” Brent stared at the man. “Fred Bonaparte?”

Fred turned around and saw them. “Uh... hi, do I know you? Oh! Yeah! I do--

“Ze son of Houston Thorney ‘as returned!

“Hi. How are ya?”

“Doing well,” said Brent, a bit shaken by Fred’s quick personality switches. “And you?”

“Oh, uh, can’t complain, can’t complain--

“You ‘ave been doing nothing but complain since I got here!”

“And I’ve been listening to it,” said Crispin.

Brent backed out of the room slowly. Fred turned and went back to his game as if he had never seen Brent in the first place.

“What is this?” Brent whispered.

Pellicano, holstering his gun, shook his head.

Brent slowly walked down the hall, passing Boyd who was scribbling on the walls trying desperately to find out who the conspiracy was about. Boyd acknowledged Brent, but only enough to put him on the wall between THE MANAGER AT HERNANDOS and THOSE CROWS in the conspiracy.

Further down the hall an awful cackle came from behind a heavy, iron door. Brent refused to check that. Instead, he went further and further until he came to one particular door. This one he opened, slowly. Inside was almost exactly what he expected to see: the twisted, hunched form of his sister, huddled in fear.

“You didn’t die,” whispered Brent.

Sheegor, who was holding a little turtle in her hands, squeaked and went to hide in the corner of the room.

Brent closed the door. “I don’t believe this. They told me she died.”

Pellicano had followed Brent at a distance. He put a hand on Brent’s shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do for her,” he said.

 


	18. The Man Behind the Curtain

Fred flipped a few pages to the back. Psitanium is a rare element that crashed on this planet from a meteorite five hundred years ago. It is highly valued by psychics because of how it focuses their psychic powers. Unfortunately, non-psychics often have bad reactions to exposure. It increases brain activity in certain areas, which leads to increased levels of insanity. In the decades since Oblongata was created, the Psychonauts have been studying paranormal hysteria and eventually diagnosed its cause.

What they didn’t figure out, what they never knew, was that in a select few people who were affected by psitanium because it increased activity in one part of their brain, also had it decrease activity in other parts of their brain and body. It was as if their brains were so overactive in one way that they forgot to do anything else.

_They forgot to age._

Fred Bonaparte was 92 years old, and everything from his thirties to 91 was a blur that seemed to have taken only a few months, tops. The psitanium that drove him mad had also nearly completely removed his need for sustenance, and the asylum had provided barely enough for him to survive.

“Brent and Pellicano never told anyone,” said Clarence. “They just left you here to test their theory. And as the years went on, they saw you remain the same, even as my father watched himself grow old. They studied it, trying to find a way to extract the immortality without the unpleasant side effect. But it seems more like the _immortality_ is the side effect of the madness. I never knew, not until my father died and Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp was founded. I couldn’t exactly come down to check it out with the Psychonauts creeping around. I’m sorry, I--”

Suddenly Clarence broke down. “Fred, I’m sorry. I’m such a coward! I can’t-- they came asking me for my father’s work. They thought I was in on it. I told them you were a part of it! You used to work here, and I-- I was afraid. I’m sorry. I thought they were going to kill me!”

“Shh... come on, it’s all right,” said Fred.

“No. It’s not alright!” Clarence wiped his eyes on his dusty sleeve, but seemed to calm down slightly. “I never wanted to be a part of this. This is my father’s work. My grandfather’s. Not mine. I don’t want the guilt. I didn’t want you to be trapped here.”

“Hey, I’m with ya there,” said Fred. “I know a thing or two about inheriting a legacy you don’t want.”

That got a slight chuckle out of Clarence. “Heh. Yeah, I guess you do.” He sighed, leaned against the wall, and slid into the ground. Fred followed suit so that they were sitting side by side.

“So, your father...?”

Clarence nodded. “For the rest of his life, they went back and forth, keeping tabs on everything, watching you. I think he was also trying to save his sister. At least, I hope he was. Loboto figured out what they were doing, and eventually he wanted in. I don’t know exactly how he was involved, or how involved he was.”

“So why is this happening now?”

“Best I can figure is, nobody paid attention to this island in decades until that whole thing with the Psychonauts. I don’t know anything about it that I didn’t read in the papers. But I guess once you guys got off the island, he knew they needed to cover their tracks, but with the ban on activity on the island, he was taking his time and being cautious. Then, all of a sudden, the Psychonauts are coming back here and they’re planning on investigating it, so suddenly his plan is now or never. So I think he was trying to or discredit you and the others so no one would believe you if you told them what happened. And make sure there were no records.”

“But I didn’t know what happened,” said Fred. “I had no idea I was gone for so long. That whole period is a blur. It could have been a week, or even a year for all I knew. And I never knew anything about being observed or experimented on--”

“I know, but he didn’t know that. And he couldn’t trust anybody.” Clarence sighed. “Are you going to tell the Psychonauts?”

“I think I have to,” replied Fred.

“The worst they can hit me with is not telling them since I found out. Less than a decade of ignoring the problem. That’s not as bad as condemning you to this fate in the first place, is it?”

“Nah,” said Fred. “We have fun.”

Clarence stood up. “Well, you might as well take me to them. No sense in putting it off, that’s what they’re here for.”

Fred stayed sitting for the moment. “Wait, there’s one thing I want to know. Your father and Pellicano were working on this back in the fifties, right? And your father died... so who’s taken over the operation? Who’s trying to get the information and who tried to kill Edgar and Crispin? Who is Loboto working with?”

“Didn’t you know?” Clarence frowned. “This whole thing is part of the government office that started this whole mess. It’s--”

But at that exact moment, Clarence was hit in the head with a psiblast and he fell to the ground, his skin and hair singed and his neck twisted it at an odd angle.

Fred, without thinking, jumped to his feet. Then he realized he just made himself the easiest target in the room and he hit the floor.

Above him, a man on a levitation ball floated down to the ground below, before stepping off. “Traitor,” he said, his voice empty of anger or disgust. He was tall and slender, wearing a dark trench coat and fedora, his shoes shined to perfection. His eyes looked too big for his skull, and they were locked on Fred like he was prey. Under his hat Fred could see long, jet black hair running down unevenly as if someone who had never seen hair before took a pair of scissors to it and just started hacking, then gave up halfway. His right hand was pushing his coat aside to show he had a holstered gun in easy reach. His left wrist was wrapped in a cast.

Fred looked down at him. “Wait...”

“Nice to see you again, Bonaparte,” said the man.

“You... you’re the man from the interrogation room.” The fact that he recognized him was surprising to him, as he had so much trouble thinking straight. Fred’s stomach clenched up as he remembered being thrown into the chair after days of not knowing where one began and the other ended.

The man smiled. “I don’t believe I introduced myself last time. The name’s Fulton. Fulton Pellicano.”

“Pellicano...”

“You know. From the official documents? I was responsible for evacuating Shaky Claim and creating Oblongata. It’s my fault you were left behind. But you’ve done so much for humanity since then, I think you’ll agree it’s for the best overall.”

“Pellicano? Brent and _Pellicano_ Pellicano?”

“It hasn’t been easy keeping everything from the Psychonauts, you know. They think they know everything, but they know nothing. And it’s been so, so easy to hide this from them. Like hiding candy from a baby. For half a century they’ve had no idea while I and my men have been combing this island for the secret. The secret in you Fred Bonaparte.”

“Not your men...”

“Men, agents, psychic projections I create to keep an eye on things, whatever I can get my hands on. Not so much of the first two since the sixties, though. This is a government operation and it’s highly treasonous of you to interfere.”

Fred began to back up slowly.

“Where are you going to run, Bonaparte? We’re on an island.”

Fred turned around and began running through the rubble, tripping over small pebbles and losing his stride but still running as hard as he could.

“You can’t hide from us, Bonaparte!” Pellicano’s voice echoed through the ruins. “My men and I are watching!”

Fred kept running, stumbling constantly but somehow keeping his pace up. There was nowhere to hide, he knew that. He rounded the corner created by a large concrete block and pressed his back against it as he slid to the ground, head on his knees. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered.

“What’s stupid?”

Fred looked up. He was sitting right next to where Sasha and Milla were standing. Raz, Oleander, and Ford were nowhere to be seen.

“Uh... hi,” said Fred meekly. “Okay, so, I know you’re gonna be mad, but I went into the asylum--”

“Oh, darling,” said Milla, “after that whole big warning?”

“Yeah, and I found the guy. He’s here. He’s right behind me.”

“The guy?” Milla looked at Sasha.

“So good to see you!” It was Pellacano’s voice, projected into the surrounding minds. Fred jumped up and moved behind Sasha, as if that was some great protection.

“Who are you?” Sasha called, both out loud and telepathically.

“Who am I?” This time it was the voice of someone present, close but not close enough to tell exactly where he was. “Let’s just say I’m your host for the evening.”

“Pellicano,” said Fred.

Sasha turned to Fred. “Pellicano? From the Shaky Claim Dilemma?”

“Yeah. Same guy.”

Sasha sent out a message for Oleander and Raz to return to them as quickly as possible.

“Go back to the others,” instructed Milla to Fred. “Get them all on the jet and wait for us.”

Not needing to be told twice, Fred hustled off.

Sasha stepped around the block. “Where are you? Show yourself!”

Pellicano stepped out from behind the rubble, one arm still hidden from view. Sasha took a defensive stance.

“Ah-ah-ah,” said Pellicano. “Be nice. I’m sure you don’t want anything to happen to your little lab assistant, do you?”

Pellicano brought his hand into view. No surprise that it was holding a gun. It was quickly followed by Dr. Loboto, also stepping into view. He had a rough choke hold around Sheegor’s neck. Sheegor had her oven mitt hands at his arm and was squirming fiercely, but was unable to escape. “Help me,” she squeaked, barely audible at this distance.

“If you make one move I don’t like, she dies,” said Pellicano.

Dr. Loboto brandished his newly replaced claw. “Oh, please move. I’m just dying to try this baby out!”

Sahsa sent out a message to Raz and Oleander to stay hidden. Based on Pellicano’s non-reaction, Sasha was confident that it hadn’t been psychically intercepted.

“What are you doing here?” asked Sasha.

Pellicano tsked. “I don’t really see why I have to answer any of your questions, it’s just a waste of time when I’m going to kill you.”

“If you kill us, the Psychonauts will retaliate.”

“How are they going to know who to look for? My entire office is classified. My name was expunged from government records in the 1970s when they wanted to distance themselves from the unpleasantness of what happened in Shaky Claim. Even if you have all the official documentation about this incident back at HQ, they won’t be looking for a man that should have died decades ago. I’ve been erased. I don’t exist.”

'I’m behind him, Nein,' said Oleander, projecting this telepathic message only to Sasha. 'I’m going to try and take out his weapon.'

'You’ve only got one shot,' said Sasha, 'and I can sense his ability to psiblast. He will retaliate that way.'

'Can’t be a strong ability if he’s depending on a firearm in a tight situation.'

'Are you willing to bet Sheegor’s life on it?'

'Do you have a better idea?'

“So,” said Pellicano, “here’s how it’s going to go down.”

'Keep him distracted,' said Oleander.

“You and the pretty lady over there are going to kneel right there, face to the wall, hands on your head. I will then retrieve the inmates from the jet and bring them to our secret location for further study.”

No one moved.

“Well? Do I need to draw you a diagram? Get moving!” Pellicano brandished the gun at them a moment, and then pressed the muzzle to Sheegor’s head. Sheegor whimpered.

Sasha and Milla obeyed. They both knelt down against the concrete block and put their hands, fingers interlaced, on the backs of their heads. Pellicano walked up behind them. He turned to Dr. Loboto and said, “Oh, before I continue-- Caligosto, did you want her before or after?”

“It’s much easier after,” replied Dr. Loboto.

Milla glanced at Sahsa with a worried look.

“Oh, did I forget to mention?” Pellicano laughed. “I’m going to kill you right now. Save us all the trouble.” He pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of Sasha’s head. “Any last words? I’ll see that the Psychonauts get them.”

Sasha remained stoically silent.

“Okay, then. If you’re sure.”

Thankfully, at that moment, the gun exploded out of Pellicano’s hand, went sailing six feet in the air, and landed somewhere in the wreckage as a mess of melted metal. That very same instant, a second blast hit Loboto straight in the claw, the heat of the aggression melting his blades until they were just lumps on his stump, unable to slice anyone’s throat.

The second Sasha felt the pressure leave the back of his head, he jumped up and psiblasted Pellicano. Pellicano staggered backwards and threw up his shield.

Oleaner ran up to Sasha, with Raz close behind. Sasha gave Oleander a harried look and said, “Could you possibly have cut that any closer?”

“It wasn’t me,” said Oleander. “It was this guy right here.” He wrapped his arm around Raz’s shoulders and gave him a playful punch on the arm.

Milla smiled. “Wonderful shot, darling.”

“Wasn’t that so awesome?” Raz was beaming. “He had his gun right there and was all, ‘no way,’ and I--”

At that moment, the rubble around Pellicano exploded, as he and an army of shadowy G-men appeared from the wreckage. “You think it’s going to be easy?” Pellicano boomed, still surrounded by a psychic shield. “These are projections of my mind, I have created them to do my bidding and they have all of my raw psychic power!”

These creatures were given form by his shield and telekinesis, and though they were dissolved by the slightest attack, their strength was in their sheer numbers. They could psiblast you back, or beat you with psychic fists, but when they got together, they began to meld together, ready to smother their opponent or use their numbers to tear them limb from limb. They took the form of his government agents, but they were in reality raw hatred and anger, and all they understood was to destroy at all costs.

"Agents! Attack!"

And the battle was on.

 


	19. The Dog Bites Back

Tripping over his feet, Fred arrived back at the jet. When the former inmates saw him, they immediately rushed to him, surrounding him as he collapsed to his knees, panting for breath.

“What’s the matter, dear?” asked Gloria.

“It’s Pellicano,” said Fred between gasps. “He’s a government agent, he’s been experimenting on us for decades. The psitanium-- he hasn’t aged and he’s psychic-- I think exposure can sometimes grant psychic powers? And he’s still young-- oh, man, he must have been exposing himself to it too! That means he’s lost his mind! He’s the one, he’s been trying to drive us crazy so no one would figure out what he was doing.” Fred shook his head. “Loboto’s there, he’s got Sheegor, and they’re fighting. I don’t know-- we have to do something. We have to help them!”

“But what can we do that the psychonauts can’t?”

“I don’t know, but look!” Fred pointed. From where they were they could see parts of the battle: Pellicano silhouetted atop his levitation sphere in the air as scores of his projections swarmed Sasha, Milla, Oleander, and Raz. Though the psychonauts fired psiblast after psiblast, swung with massive psychic fists, telekinetically grabbed and threw them, and tried to set fire to the surrounding area, the projections just kept coming. And Pellicano was above them, surrounded by his shield except for when he fired at them, knowing that if they took a moment wait for their opportunity to fire back at him, his psychic forms would encompass them, leaving them completely at Pellicano’s mercy.

“I know it’s scary,” said Fred, “and it’s really not what we’re good at, but if we don’t do anything we’re all going to die here anyway, so shouldn’t we at least try?”

Crispin sneered. “Rousing speech, General, but what did you have in mind?”

Suddenly, Boyd shouted, “Look at that! Some of my old milk bottles!” He pushed through the group and ran over to a chunk of debris, shoved it aside, and picked up a rusty metal basket of milk bottles. “I bet I can use these. There’s no way there’s nothing here I can use to start a fire.”

“And they have not made the psychic projection that Edgar Teglee could not best in a contest of strength.” Edgar flexed the muscles in his heavily tattooed arms.

“I can’t fight,” said Gloria, “but I’m coming, too. If there’s anything I can do, I must do it.”

“And Crispin?” Fred looked at him, frowning slightly.

“What?”

“Just do what comes naturally.”

“You mean pick on you?”

“It’ll keep me motivated.”

Boyd held up his Molotov cocktail. “All right! Let’s do this!” Immediately the rag burst into flames. Boyd grinned. “Hey, look at that!”

“Good job, Boyd, now throw it!”

Boyd hurled the bottle as they charged into battle. It hit Pellicano and knocked him out of the air, and then hit the ground and shattered. Pellicano fell right into the fire and screamed in sudden pain as he rolled away into the rubble, slapping at his coat to keep the flames from spreading. His projections faltered, but did not fade.

“What are you doing?” Sasha demanded.

“You’re losing!” Edgar shouted back. “And we are here to help!”

It was complete chaos. The fire licked at Dr. Loboto’s jacket and he immediately jumped back, loosening his grip on Sheegor in the process. Sheegor saw the opportunity immediately, and twisted herself free in one movement, then took off running across the battlefield.

“Get back here, you miserable wretch!” Loboto shouted. He tried to run after her, but the fire spread and he had to drop and roll. “You can’t get away from me! I own you! You are my property and you belong to me!”

Sobbing, Sheegor ran until Gloria intercepted her, wrapping her arms around her and shushing her gently. “It’s all right,” cooed Gloria. “This will all be over soon.”

Pellicano had climbed onto a high boulder so he could survey his work. Once he was back on his feet, his projections were just as persistent as ever.

Suddenly, something inside Fred clicked. He turned around and shouted, “Boyd, move further back and throw higher! Edgar! Make like a steam engine and clear a path to the middle so the psychonauts can spread out!” Once their opponents weren’t clustered together, the projections would have to spread themselves thin to take on all of them instead of grouping, which was only giving them the upper hand.

Edgar let out a defiant roar, braced his right side, and charged into the maelstrom. He took down every projection in his path, causing them to dissipate completely as neatly as if they’d been psiblasted, and he crashed straight into Oleander, knocking them both down.

“Sorry,” said Edgar.

“Now you guys can go to the four corners of this battlefield!” Fred shouted.

“He’s right,” said Sasha. “Milla, you go to the north corner, I’ll go south. Raz, take the last corner.” As Oleander was on the ground and it would take him as long to get up as it would the rest to spread out, he was staying in this corner.

As Raz ran passed Fred, he said in disbelief, “Fred, is that you?”

“Who else would it be?”

“Napoleon?”

“I don’t need him anymore,” said Fred. “I’m tired of cowering like a--” BLAM! Mid-sentence, he was hit with a psiblast just as Clarence had been. He crumpled to the ground as the battle continued around him.

“Fred!”

“Keep your head down, soldier!”

“What happened?”

“Spread out!”

“Is he all right?”

“He got hit!”

“Who got hit?”

“I said spread out!”

“Nein, now you’re the tallest target.”

Crispin waddled casually over to where Fred’s head was. It was bruised and singed where he was psiblasted, but thankfully still attached to his intact neck and body. Crispin sat down.

“Did we win?” asked Fred.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. What happened with you just now?”

“I saw the game, and it was me.” Then he passed out.

Sheegor was huddled behind a large piece of rubble, shaking and crying. Gloria was still patting her, holding her, and trying to comfort her as the battle raged on. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “Everything’s okay... somewhere... just not right here right now.”

“Blarg!” Dr. Loboto burst up from the other side of the rock. He had managed to put most of the fire out and there was now only a smoldering ember along the edge of his jacket.

Sheegor shrieked.

“You still haven’t paid for betraying me before!” Dr. Loboto said, brandishing his claw. “Maybe I can’t cook your turtle, but I can cook _you_!”

Sheegor screamed louder, “Eyaaaaaa!” But somewhere in the middle it shifted from a screech of pure terror to one of fury. In a blink, Sheegor pounced, flinging off her oven mitts and slapping at Loboto furiously. She tackled him to the ground, slapping and screaming and clawing and crying, and at first Dr. Loboto was too surprised to react, but then she had him subdued completely. He scratched at her with his blunt, melted claw but she shoved it away, too full of adrenaline to even feel it. She had spent decades alone in constant fear, and this man had taken away her comfort and companion, taunted and tormented her, forced her into cruelty, and now every bit of anger that she couldn’t feel under the terror was bursting out, and centered on this man who had wronged her, and she slapped and scratched and shrieked and pounded, banging his head into the concrete, and Loboto struggled and bled--

Gloria grabbed Sheegor around the middle. “Darling--Sheegor--honey, you got him!” She pulled Sheegor--- no, Sheena Thorny, off Dr. Loboto, who was now dazed and bloody, and she was crying again, but she was no longer afraid. Not of Dr. Loboto, not of Pellicano, not of anybody.

Splitting up had been exactly what the psychonauts needed. The projections which had aided Pellicano so well were stretched thin, and once he couldn’t keep them subdued, he knew they were coming for him. Pellicano lifted a large boulder, preparing to crush them, but Raz saw him. He quickly picked up his own boulder and threw it into Pellicano’s, causing it to smash and split into many smaller, mostly harmless rocks which rained down on the battlefield, dissipating any projections they fell directly on.

“It’s over, Pellicano,” said Sasha as he blasted the last projection. “Come down now and we'll put you in custody.”

“It is not over,” said Pellicano, “and don’t come near me! You do not have authority over me! I am doing this on behalf of the government!”

“You haven’t been affiliated with them in years,” said Sasha. “And if they knew what you have been doing, they would not be protecting you.”

“I have worked too long and suffered too hard for it to end like this! I came here! I conquered my madness! I extracted the psychic powers and I have achieved immortality! I can not!” he blasted the ground in front of Milla- “be taken down!” he blasted Sasha but only got his shoulder- “by the likes of you!”

Sasha grabbed him telekinetically. “You are powerful, I will grant you. But you have no formal training and no real control.”

“Put me down! I am a _god_ compared to you!”

“You are not a god. You are a man who is in a great deal of trouble.”

Pellicano blasted at Sasha, but Sasha threw up a shield this time and blocked his attack completely.

“You have given us a lot of trouble,” said Sasha, “but now it is over.”

Sasha levitated Pellicano away from his perch so he was over the ground. He was about to gently lower him so that he could finish subduing him when Pellicano threw a confusion grenade. Sasha tried to block it but he missed. And as soon as it hit him, he lost his grip on Pellicano.

Pellicano thought he was going to land neatly on his feet, but he was still partly over his boulder. One foot landed on it, but the other missed, and it turned him upside down as he fell. There was a horrible crack as his head and neck hit the ground.

“Darling, are you all right?” Milla put one hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Here, follow my finger.” She held one finger up in front of Sasha and moved it slowly back and forth. “Oh, wait, I can’t see your eyes. Here, let me take your glasses--”

Sasha put his index finger on the bridge of his shades. “I’m fine, thank you. His confusion is not very durable, and I am not so easily confused.” He turned to look at Pellicano’s limp form. “Is he all right?”

Oleander knelt down beside the crumpled form and checked. “Nope. He’s dead.”

Suddenly, Sasha picked up a psychic message. He turned to the inmates and said, “Thank you for your assistance. We may not have had such a clean victory without your aid. But now, it is imperative that you return to the jet for a moment, as something is about to happen that you’re not going to be able to handle.”

“What?” Boyd frowned. “After all that?”

“Trust me,” said Sasha. “I’ll call you back in a moment.”

Edgar scooped up Fred. “Come along, Mr. Orderly.”

“Huh?” Fred grunted, sounding dazed. “Hey, where’r we goin’?”

“Back to the jet.”

“Oh, thass nice.” Then he threw up all down Edgar’s shirt.

Sasha turned back to Oleander. “Morry, would you finish subduing Dr. Loboto?”

Oleander cracked his knuckles. “I was hoping it’d be me.”

Once everyone but Sasha, Milla, and Raz were left outside, Sasha sent a message back: “It’s alright, they’re safely secured. You can come out now.”

A moment later, over at the edge of the island, a large psitanium boulder slowly levitated into view. Under it was Ford Cruller, mentally carrying it over to the group.

“Oh,” said Raz, “so that’s where you went.”

“This is the second largest chunk of psitanium I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said. “I sensed it was here. It’s strong enough to keep me together.”

“Fascinating,” said Sasha. "I assume Pellicano brought it here to aid him tonight."

“Whoa,” said Raz. “That is huge!”

“Hold onto that,” said Sasha. “Agent Vodello and I are going to finish our search of the island.”

“I don’t plan on letting this baby go,” said Ford.

 


	20. A Resolution, Of Sorts

The Psychonauts recovered the information Clarence Thorney had been there to retrieve, as well as the body of Clarence Thorney. Upon comparing him with the picture Sasha had been given, he realized that the picture he had been given was not of Clarence, but of his father Brent, and they simply looked extremely similar (as sometimes happens in families.) The papers were not, as Fred had assumed, as old as the asylum, but rather backup hard copies of the details of Pellicano's research left here for safekeeping. As they were much newer and left in weatherproof containers, they survived handily.

Gloria was able to identify the body of Pellicano as the boyfriend from her memories, the one who had given her the jewelry. They also found he was carrying several blank CDs containing only the song “Waterloo,” which he apparently had been planting and using to unnerve Fred. Evidence retrieved from Fred’s townhouse was matched to him as well, proving it was he who had broken into his house that night after shooting Edgar- though the gun was melted and ruined, they were able to identify it as using the same kind of bullet they’d pulled out of Edgar, and as he had motive that was enough for them to close that case.

Brent and Pellicano had spent the remainder of their lives studying psitanium, and upon going over the research it was clear what they had discovered: that the immortality effect was only apparent in a tiny fraction of people, only applied to people who were driven mad by its effects, and only if they were constantly exposed to it. Brent, who never came down with paranormal hysteria, was not spared from aging. Pellicano, who went quite mad during his research, was.

While Pellicano had been studying this for the government, and he did remain a government agent all throughout for the special privileges allowed him, internal investigations on his classified documentation showed that the full extent of his research was never reported. None of his observations regarding the former Thorney Towers inmates had made it to official records. Though his direct superiors were aware of the immortality potential and thus acknowledged that he was alive far longer than he should have been, it was never reported that madness was a prerequisite, and the full extent of his insanity was well masked from them. It didn’t help that the majority of his work was conducted alone, as the crazier he was the less he trusted anyone but his own psychic projections of subordinates.

The tree stump at Whispering Rock was also recovered, as it was part of his insane cover-up. Apparently, in his mind, if people didn’t know that Thorney Towers closed so long ago, they wouldn’t think it suspicious that people from there were still alive. The further into his work they researched, the more it degraded until it was about as coherent as Boyd’s wall.

Loboto was interrogated, but unfortunately he wasn't able to tell them much that they didn't know. He had left the island with Oleander and worked with Dr. Kai independently, but in the grand scheme of things it amounted to little. How he met Pellicano, what he did for him, what he knew, all of that unfortunately was trapped in vaults within vaults within cobwebs within vaults.

A psychic autopsy of Pellicano showed the extent of the unstable powers he had been granted from years of exposure to psitanium, and would go a long way in showing the influence psitanium had on nonpsychic individuals. Until now, no one had ever found anything other than insanity. It was, therefore, that the book on this case was closed with an air of promise for the future, and hope of new discoveries.

 

~*~

 

Fred woke up the next morning in an infirmary, the previous night reduced to a blur in his mind. His last clear memory was of the jet ride to the island, and after that he only had wisps and snatches of visions: Poking around the spooky ruins, Clarence being murdered mid-conversation, rallying his friends to help the Psychonauts, throwing up on Edgar... and being woken up many times while trying to sleep.

The room he was in was small and white. Fred felt himself top to bottom, but there were no injuries he wasn't aware of. The bandages on his arm and stomach had been changed recently, and there was a sore spot on his head, but other than that he seemed whole and intact. He wasn't hooked up to anything, though there were several different monitors in the corner of the room on rolling carts.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but suddenly felt incredibly dizzy and nearly threw up. Slowly he lowered his head back to the thin pillow until he no longer felt like he was falling.

Fred looked to the door. It was closed, but there was a window in it so he could see the hallway. At first all he could see through it was the wall across the hall, but after awhile a familiar person passed by. Fred raised his hand quickly before his mind even identified who it was he saw: Sasha Nein, who noticed Fred and opened the door. As he entered he called over his shoulder something Fred couldn’t make out.

“Hi,” said Fred. “Uh, where am I?”

“You’re back at Psychonauts headquarters,” said Sasha. “We brought you here after leaving Thorney Towers as you were showing signs of a serious concussion. I’ve alerted the nurse you’re awake and she’ll be assessing you again shortly.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for your assistance in neutralizing Pellicano. I’ve put in an application for you to receive the Psychonauts Medal of Recognition, the lowest of three civilian honors we are allowed to bestow.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“I’m sure you’re concerned about what that means, as I understand you are traditionally a non-combative person. I assure you, we have scanned your brain for any signs of mania and found nothing concerning. What you did last night you did while in sound mind.”

Fred closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “That’s... actually terrifying.”

The door opened again and a nurse stepped in. “Good morning, Mr. Bonaparte,” she said cheerfully. She pulled out a pen light and shined it into his eyes. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay?”

Sasha stepped back to the corner, but did not leave. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with his mind. The nurse scowled at that. “Shouldn’t you be taking that outside?”

Sasha hesitated, and then snuffed out his cigarette.

“Thank you.” The nurse turned back to Fred.

First, she needed all his vitals, which Fred sat still for. Then came the questions. First about his general state, which he couldn't complain about. Then about his cognitive stage. She asked what the date was, which Fred was unable to provide as he had not asked for it since he had been released from his captivity. She also wanted him to repeat a list words from her, which he could, and a list of numbers backwards, which he couldn't. Finally, once his head was properly spinning again, she excused herself with the promise of sending a doctor in as soon as one was available.

When it was over, Fred lay back down and closed his eyes. "What happens now?"

"Now?" Sasha calmly pulled out another cigarette. "Whatever you want to happen. You can go home. You are no longer in danger."

"Oh, good." He paused. "Hey, uh, can you write me a note or something? My job is gonna want to know where I've been for so long, and, like, if they haven't fired me or anything yet, it would be nice to have some backup."

Sasha nodded. "Of course."

 

~*~

 

It was always sad when the circus was leaving town, but it was especially hard for Augustus to pack up and leave knowing his son was still out there. Razputin knew how to find them, of course, so it wasn't like he would come home to an empty lot and wonder where his family had gone. But still, it was hard for a father to leave the last place he'd seen his son, not knowing if his boy would come home safely. The last of the tents had been packed and the circus convoy was ready to go. But before the procession departed, Augustus was taking one quiet moment on his own for reflection and personal centerdness.

"Dad?"

Not immediately believing his ears, Augustus turned around.

Raz was standing outside of Sasha's boring black car. It had pulled up right to the edge of the empty lot. Sasha remained in the car to give the reuniting family privacy, as well as prevent any incident that might happen between himself and Augustus. But did not pull away until he was satisfied everything was well.

Raz ran up to his father and greeted him with a hug, which was eagerly returned. "I'm glad you're safe," said Augustus.

"I can't wait to tell you all the stuff that happened!" Raz said excitedly.

"I'd love to hear it," said Augustus. "Tell me, was your little friend Lili there?"

"Uh, no," said Raz, "but lots of other cool people were."

Augustus put his hand on Raz's back as the two began walking towards the rest of the family. "Oh, and before I forget." Augustus reached into his back pocket and retrieved Raz's copy of _True Psychic Tales_ , the one he had been reading instead of practicing what seemed like years ago. "I believe this is yours... although I think the new one is already out?"

"That would be the annual," said Raz. "It's not a main issue, it's sort of a special-- but wow, thanks for keeping this out for me."

"Anytime." Augustus paused. "Will you excuse me a moment?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

Augustus turned around and crossed the distance between himself and Sasha's car, leaving Raz behind with his comic. Raz didn't open it, though. Instead he watched his father curiously as he approached the car and knocked gently on the passenger side window. There was a noticeable hesitation before Sasha rolled the window down.

"Thank you for watching over my son," said Augustus.

"Razputin doesn't need anyone to watch over him," said Sasha. "He's a Psychonaut in his own right."

"I know that, but he's still eleven years old."

Sasha didn't respond.

Augustus sighed. "I don't want to have this argument again. I just wanted to say I appreciate all you do for him."

"Thank you." Then, after another tense pause, "We may return for him shortly. There is another matter brewing I would like his accompaniment on."

"I'll see you soon, then."

Sasha rolled the window back up. The car started up, and pulled away, leaving the family back together.

 

~*~

 

Three weeks later, and Fred's life was back to normal. His house had been repaired while he was away, apparently thanks to Sasha who had put in a work order shortly after Fred joined the group. His job was happy to have him back, and Fred had missed having quiet days in a small office. It wasn't the kind of work he enjoyed, necessarily, but remembering working at Thorney Towers had renewed his appreciation for quiet, uneventful days.

Fred was working in a small cubical in a suite located in an office park. His cube was near the front door, which opened into the parking lot. That's why, as he was going over personal deductions for a particularly difficult client, he heard the front door open. Fred stood up and looked over the walls, and saw the new security guard for the complex come in, wearing his uniform and looking very familiar.

"Boyd?" said Fred.

Boyd grinned and waved. "Hey, Fred! I heard you were working here."

Fred stepped out of his cube and crossed the office floor, ignoring the curious stares of his coworkers as he did so. Fred ushered Boyd outside, where their talking wouldn't disrupt anyone currently wrestling with the tax code, and into the crisp autumn sunshine. "Boyd, I can't believe it. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was looking for work, you know? And there was a security guard job opening here, and I thought, hey, I can do that. So I applied, and they said, hey, sure, you can work here, we're not at all concerned you've burnt down at least two of your previous workplaces."

"At least?"

"It was a long time ago," said Boyd, "who remembers for sure?"

"Yeah." Fred looked across the parking lot and to the building across the street, another one-story affair filled with small offices rented out to various companies and businesses. It was a quiet area, not too much stress for a guard. Not that Fred was worried about Boyd. "So, uh... how have you been?"

"Great," said Boyd. "It really helps to have a certificate from the Psychonauts that they've certified you Not Insane."

"Aw, you got a certificate? All I got was a verbal assurance."

"Well, you didn't exactly relapse, did you?"

"No. Good point." Fred glanced over his shoulder, and then leaned down so he was closer to Boyd's head and said in a lowered voice, "So, uh... how are you dealing with it?"

"With what?"

"With... I don't know, everything? Realizing that you're sixty years older than you thought you were?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, I've always known."

"What?"

"Well, not _always,_ but getting off the island? Yeah, I clued in pretty quick that a lot of time had passed. I just couldn't say anything to anyone because, you know, it sounded crazy. So I kept my mouth shut and tried to keep up with the world."

"Oh." Fred had never thought about it before, but he realized that for the entire year he, too, had been suppressing the realization that he had been gone longer than he could comprehend. "We should have said something."

Boyd shrugged. "Yeah, probably. But would it really have changed everything? Some things, yeah, but even if you said you were ninety years old and everyone believed you, we wouldn't have known about that guy, what's-his name who was doing all this."

"Pellicano."

"Yeah." There was a certain resignedness to Boyd's voice that put Fred at ease. "So, it really was a coincidence running into you here. I was just hanging out in the guard shack and I overheard two people talking about this really tall guy, like, _ridiculously_ tall, and I got excited thinking it might be you. I don't know what happened to any of our old friends after this and I was kinda worried."

"Oh, I looked into it after I went home. Since I got a lot of information about what they've been up to since I was with the Psychonauts and everything. Apparently they sent Crispin back to Shady Pines, but they're keeping Dr. Loboto. Gloria went back to acting and running her foundation, and Edgar's already working on his new artwork. Everybody's got their old life back. Nothing else has changed."

"Yeah..." Boyd trailed off. Then he smiled and gave Fred a big thump on the small of his back. "Well, great seeing you again. We should time our lunches together, huh?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Okay, see you around!"

Fred let himself back into his building, and crossed quietly back to his cubicle. Everything was the same. His life, his job, his appreciation of what he had. After what happened and what he learned, nothing had changed.

There was a pencil lying on Fred's desk. He stared at it, concentrating on it, and as he did it slowly began rolling away from the edge and towards the fabric cube walls. Fred closed his eyes and looked away, and the pencil stopped.

Everything was the same. No need to ruin that.

 

~*~

 

Though much of the internal investigation into Pellicano's department was classified, there was one thing the rest of the world knew as a result of what had happened: there was a worldwide recall of Psitanium. Beforehand it had not been illegal to own, though strongly advised against, and of course the negative effects caused most people to willingly avoid it. However, countries around the world had their own organizations and departments who were researching it. Without publicizing the reason for the sudden change in policy there was a movement to "return madness to its source," and the majority of the world's psitanium quickly began working its way back to where it came from: the area now known as Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp.

The sun was setting as Oleander quietly and with no fanfare packed his bunnies away in the hutch, giving each one an affectionate squeeze before tucking it in. After checking that they had food and clean water (they did), he locked the hutch and went inside the cabin for dinner. When he got there, he saw the camp store was empty and the grill was cold. Frowning, Oleander went back outside before realizing he knew where Chef Cruller currently was.

Using the greatest of caution, Oleander levitated himself up to the roof of the main lodge. When he was level with the lower edge, he set down and walked up to the ridge. There he saw Ford, in his old Psychonauts uniform, standing on the edge facing the setting sun, hands folded behind his back and standing up straight.

"Cruller?" Oleander called tentatively.

Agent Cruller turned around, looking solemnly at Oleander. "What?"

"Just checking on you," he said. "Usually you've started dinner by now."

"Mm. I'm just taking some time to appreciate the sunset... haven't seen one in a long time."

"All right then. I'll fire up the grill. Come down if you get hungry."

"Will do."

Oleander left him alone, and Ford continued to stare off into the sunset. With the additional psitanium in the area from the recall, as well as Pellicano's giant rock, he found he was able to stay further from the mother-lode for longer periods of time before losing himself. While he wasn't able to be himself all the time outside his sanctuary, he was able to be himself more than none of the time, and that was a victory.

Now he appreciated the rich orange of the sky as the sun disappeared behind rolling mountains enveloped in a pine forest, stretching off to the world that still was and would ever be off limits to him, yet in this moment, with his world consisting of the camp he loved, he was willing to call that enough.

 


End file.
